#i know the internet rewards being The Most Angry but Oh My God. do better

[muttsandmustelidae]

man have whatever opinions you want about doodles, but if you’re immediately a dick to people who say they have a labradoodle or whatever you reeeeeeally need to work on not being such a deeply unpleasant individual. you’re not being the A+ Good Ethical Dog Person you think you are, you’re just being an unprovoked asshole 💀

[nemesis-is-my-middle-name]

I love your asexual explanation if it had more weight in reality I would be more understanding.

...however....

...I know too much...

I probably just don't like fake bitches and the commander was a real one that tried to make an informed decision for the sake of everyone else. It was a poor one, don't get me wrong.

Volo....

He wants to become the gods of the next world because he thinks the Pokemon world sucks despite the fact that the internet hasn't even been invented yet and he only knows one freaking area like damn you haven't even seen the rest of the world. what.. does he look at people who are being happy and goes "that is fake??" I can't imagine the pain that he must have think that he's gone through to apply it to literally everyone.

He's going to fix this usurping God? how??? HOW does he know anything about being God?? What makes him think that he has the qualifications for that??

It's the equivalent of looking at somebody's cool art piece and then trying to destroy that cool art piece to make a better art piece without even knowing how to make art

Oh yeah and that art piece is the state of reality of which you exist on.

The commander wouldn't have made that decision if Volo wasn't being a stupid bitch.

(Sorry I've been holding this unkept rage for a while because people don't realize the gravity of what Volo was trying to do.

I should probably delete most of this but you seem like the type that would enjoy it so...*shrugs

Maybe discussing this with you might make me stop being so angry at this because you're so insightful.)

qhkjhkjh ok first of all "I love your asexual explanation" took me OUT. is that what it is. ghskjshskjh i guess so

anyway like. and to start off with this is NOT me trying to defend volo. he's evil and deranged and most of all kind of pathetic and these are INTEGRAL parts of his character. but. i really do think that in the end he's someone with severe clinical depression in an era where that isn't really a recognized Thing you can get Help For and who also has been given esoteric knowledge about the nature of the gods that rule reality that apparently everyone else has forgotten. so instead of going "everything is terrible and it's pointless" it's "everything is terrible... and i know an extremely drastic way to fix it." that's at least the angle i come at him from.

and as for the second part... this is i think something that's more my take than like, canon or fanon, But. usually the way i come at it is that volo didn't want to make himself god, he wanted to make giratina god. he wanted giratina to usurp arceus and create its own ideal world, wherein he would presumably be rewarded with some sort of immortal high-priest role or something i honestly don't think he thought that far ahead.

anyway though i think that's why everything he does feels so drastic and out of left field. it's cause his perception of reality is like incredibly distorted and he's been trapped in this volo-giratina-togekiss echo chamber to the point where he thinks this is a normal thing for people to want. nice going dude!

[universalistotalis]

Too Far

Angst!!!

Atsumu Miya x Female Reader

Word count: 1.5k

Loving Atsumu Miya was absolute bliss. You loved every second of his affection, his skin, his warmth, his laugh, and his jokes. That giant bastard may be a crackhead to his friends and family, but with you, his affectionate side just pops out of nowhere. His eyes filled with love when he looks at you. His arms opened so wide to envelope you in an embrace so tight, your feet lift up the floor with ease. His words laced with care and love with a hint of playfulness at the side and they never failed to make your insides scramble everytime.

You shake your head from the daydream that you’ve consistently been having since the start of the relationship.

God, you loved him so much, didn’t you? You gave your whole world to the man of your dreams. You sacrificed time, effort, patience, you name it, just to have one second by his side.

And because of that love, you became an absolute fool.

Who were you kidding, right? THE Great Atsumu Miya will never settle. Who were you to tame that wild beast? How special did you think you were when he had a sea of people under his spell, his command?

Just face it, you’re nothing to him.

And so you did. You left your shared apartment after waiting for him to come home for the nth time. Who knows where he was, who he’s with, what he’s doing. You were done thinking of an imaginary Atsumu who will love you wholeheartedly. That’s just not going to happen.

After many sobs and insecurities flooding in, you were ready to face the world again. Even more ready to face Atsumu. He’s nothing to you now. There were no grudges held in your heart. There were no tears in yours eyes. But more importantly, there was new love formed in your chest and that’s reserved for the most important person in your life. You.

“Damn, y/n!!! What happened to you?!” One of your friends cheered as you met to go to a club on a Friday night. Work was pretty hectic lately and you all agreed to a well- deserved night out.

“No kidding, you’re literally glowing!!!” Another hyped and slapped your ass playfully as you walked through the doors. “Let’s get wasted tonight!!!”

And my god, your whole group did. You all danced to your heart’s content, ordered liquor until your head got rid of all inhibitions, laughed at each other’s faces and jokes… overall, it was a night to remember.

“Y/n?” You heard a voice behind you followed by your right wrist being cased within the hands of another.

You were just on the verge of getting sober so you wonder if the image right in front of your eyes was real or not. He used to stand with his chest puffed out in confidence but now, he looked deflated. Under his eyes were dark circles, proof of him not sleeping well. His usual playful demeanor was gone and the man in front of you now looked so lost, confused… lonely.

“Atsumu?” You squinted, not believing the sight in front of you.

“It really is you.” He slurred and you had a whiff of liquor on his breath. “How have you been?”

“I’ve been doing great, Miya. Thanks.” You smiled, genuinely.

“Where’s my sweet nickname?” He joked. “You look so damn happy celebratin’ with yer friends tonight, huh? That happy to be rid of me, ain’t ya?” He chuckled darkly.

You were taken aback with what he said. What does he have to do with you having a great party?

“Miya, don’t do this right now. I have to go.” You tried to excuse yourself from his intrusion.

“I hate it. I hate it so goddamn much.” He whispered, closing the distance between you two and caged you on the wall behind. “I’ve been a mess since ya left, sweetheart. Seeing you having the time of your life makes me feel so damn angry. Am I that easy to forget?”

“Atsumu, I—“

“Come back to me.” He puffed. “Come back to me and I promise to treat ya right. I’ll do everythin’ ya want, just please… I love you.” His voice faltered at the end as whimpers of his cries followed. Never in your whole life did you think you’d see him break down because of you. But here he is! AND you never thought of hearing those three words with utmost sincerity from his lips. But again, here he is!

A nostalgic smile lifted from your lips and Atsumu stared at it for a while. The alcohol in his system was enough to make himself go haywire but your smile sent him spiraling. He meant what he said. He missed you to death. He needed you back.

“Come back to me, please.” He repeated and leaned his forehead on yours.

“I’m sorry, Miya.” You said as you held his face in your hands. “Thank you for being honest with me. But it’s too late. I’ve moved on from everything and you should too.”

His head violently shook no as more tears spilled from his eyes. He’ll do everything for you except let you go. “I’ll be better. Please, I’ll be better! I’ll try my best to keep ya, baby, that’s how much I love you! I can’t—“

“Then try your best with the next person because it won’t be me, Miya. I hope you understand.” You said while wiping his tears. “That relationship was too toxic for me and I can’t go back.”

“I’m sorry.” He said, voice too slow and too low to even hear but you did. “I’m so sorry.”

“Atsumu! You prick!” Your head whipped to the left at the familiar voice that boomed. Osamu barreled over to where you were but his steps slowed as he saw your figure caged inside Atsumu’s arms.

“Y/n.” He said, as if in a daze.

“Hi Osamu.” You greeted awkwardly since Atsumu’s stare is still hard and focused on your face. The alcohol seemed to have a toll on him and he was beginning to doze off. Either that, or he still did not process what you’ve been saying.

“Stop it, man.” Osamu came behind his twin and caught him by the collar. He turned to you next while carrying a limp Atsumu in his embrace. “I’m sorry for his behavior. He drinks more than he can take. He’s been out of it since… you know… your break up.”

You smiled sadly. “Oh.” Well, what were you supposed to say to that?

“Y/n!!! Come back here!” One of your friends saw you and waved you to the table.

“That’s my cue to go.” You smiled.

“Yeah.” Osamu nodded.

“Osamu, you’re here!” Atsumu woke up from his reverie and comically hugged his brother, surprising the both of you.

“You know what? Y/n was here! I told her I love her but she didn’t believe me! Tell her! Tell her for me! Maybe she’ll believe you! Help me man, I can’t lose her!”

Your chest burned at the sight and at his words. How you longed for him to say those three words in the past. But it’s just too late.

“Stop it, Tsumu.” Osamu whispered, heart aching for his twin. He saw how broken he was these past few months but then it was his fault after all. He shot you an apologetic look. “I’m sorry for this again. Take care, Y/n.”

“Take care too, Osamu.” You smiled. “Take care of him too.”

“I will.” He agreed then proceeded to take Atsumu to their table.

“It hurts, Samu.” Sudden whimpers came out from Atsumu’s mouth after a few steps. “It fucking hurts. I don’t think I can take this.”

“Imagine how she felt, you bastard.” Osamu sighed. “She really was a keeper, wasn’t she?”

Atsumu hummed in agreement. “She was. She still is.”

“Look, she’s gone, Tsumu. You need to move the fuck on and stop tormenting the poor girl! You’ve caused her enough pain.” Atsumu then was dumped harshly on the cushions.

“You don’t know what you have until it’s gone.” The saying rang in Atsumu’s ears, echoing louder and louder as the music in the club intensified throughout the night. It mocked him to the core! He drank himself to oblivion for months now, trying to forget your presence in his life. Visions of you were everywhere! You were in his room tucking him to bed. You were in the kitchen whipping up a random recipe from the internet. You were in his living room, dancing to his playlist even when you heard the songs for the first time. You were in the stands cheering for his every move. You were even on his morning jogs, passing his water bottle to make sure he’s hydrated.

You took care of him in the best way possible and he can’t believe how involved you were with his life. How did he not see that? He didn’t realize that what he bothered himself within the past were temporary things that brought temporary bliss. You were his life, his love. How could he throw something so serious? So permanent?

He watched you from afar, drunk as fuck but visions still sharp as a hawk on your side. You were happily talking to your friends, rewarding them with your gorgeous smile and wonderful laugh. Maybe this was his punishment for ever breaking someone as pure as you.

He may be close to where you were but he can never be too close to be yours again.

Okay wait HAHAHA I love Atsumu but I wanted to write an angsty post about him so here it is! This was inspired by the song “Bedroom” by JJ Lin and Anne- Marie. I just love that song so much, I have it on repeat rn.

ALSO YOU'RE SO WORTH IT AND YOU DESERVE THE BEST! Just reminding y'all in case you forgot. <3 hope you liked this one! <3

[antiloreolympus]

8 Anti LO Asks

1. as a mythology buff, i honestly think it was really weird of rachel smythe to take Hecate, a goddess who helped Demeter search for Persephone after she vanished and heard her screams and shared in Persephone and Demeter's joy after reuniting... and then just make her into Hades's like... total bro who plays aggressive matchmaker to h/p to the point of trying to break up Hades's current relationship. but honsestly i refuse to believe rachel smythe did literally any research before making this comic judging by how she depicts the mythology she's taking inspiration from so honestly im not suprised

2. I don’t know if anyone on here has discussed this, but LO very much plays into the idea of “good victim vs bad victim”.

A “good victim” has suffered many things, but despite it they still remain cheerful and happy and pleasant, they do not put others out or lash out at them even if they are triggered, they do not become petty or angry or hold onto negative emotions. They, in essence, “get over it”. Thus, the narrative rewards them: they get many friends, a love internet they’re happy with, and a happy ending. This is what Persephone is. She’s the “good victim”. Despite her many hardships, we know she will not suffer in the end. She will get everything she wants and more. 

Then there is Minthe, the “bad victim”. They too have gone through many hardships, but they’ve become cold, angry at the world, they lash out and have trouble opening up and connecting to others, they even hurt others, themselves victims to the toxic pain they can’t get rid it. They do not and have not “gotten over it”.  Thus, the narrative punishes them, even when they try to better themselves. It’s never good enough. These characters often are lonely, the cast are large do not like them if not outright hate them, and they more often than not end up dead. This is what Minthe is. She is not a pleasant person, she’s a victim of a manipulative older man and a cruel, unjust society and system, and we know how her story ends. It’s in pain, her maiming/possible death framed as a joke and not even a genuine hint of sympathy towards her fate. She was a “bad victim”, she “deserved” what she got.

Now, you only often see this in fandom, since the actual works that deal with victims of trauma and how they react will often try to give more nuance to every shade of victim they may have on cast, but it’s very disturbing to me that Rachel seems to eagerly play into this idea, like she gets joy out of punishing a victim she created and watching them suffer even more at her hands. It’d be one thing if she kept Minthe a shallow, one dimensional character who was just evil for the sake of it, fine, but her showing us her actual complex nature and the very real struggles, trauma, and manipulation she went through, especially at the hands of our supposed “heroes” of the story, just to have her demise framed as a win for Persephone and a joke for the audience to laugh at? That’s highly disturbing to me. It’s one thing for fans to act that way, but the writer themselves? It’s very dark, to say the least. 

3. "I'm invested in working with fairy tales and folklore for my next project" oh no no no oh god please no. Fairy tales have been through enough hot takes and modern "betterments", they really don't need Rachel "Apollo is bad, actually" Smythe to add to it

4. Quick question

Greek Mythology is mostly incest.

So what if someone who is actually good at writing and storytelling and consistent artwork

Kept it in

For example Zeus and  Hera arguing like the married couple they are

And Hera uses older sibling card

With Zeus dumbfounded face

I don't know why but I want it but would it be weird since it's incest

Most fanfics always keep it out. Just keep it in if you want it to be closer than the actual methods you know

Hera is youngest daughter of Cronus and Rhea and older than her brother Zeus, who was also her husband.

I want to do it but like I have no clue how to start a webtoon so you know💀

5. Oh god, Hades not needing therapy because Persephone's "love" is enough? To quote my lord and savior Kennie JD: "not the p*$$¥ being therapy!"

6. uuuuuh sexual trauma warning.?

So I was writing a comment on the "Re: bpd" ask and i had a realization about persephone

She reminds me of how I was about the idea of sex

I'm demisexual and have sexual trauma and the idea of sex excited me but I wasn't able to like, do it. Me and my partner would mess around but because Mctrauma i couldn't do it cuz I hadn't exactly worked through my trauma and i wanted to get through that because i was finally experiencing sexual attraction.

Kinda reminds me of Persephone. The problem is at that point it had been 6-7 years since my trauma occurred and persephone's happened like last month.

Considering how everyone talks about persephone being a self insert i think Rachel has some things to work through

Also made the realization literally as im typing that Rachel's attitude towards asexuality could be because she's demi and doesn't fully understand what that is or means

becuase if you're ignorant enough you can 100% end up describing demisexuality as "being asexual and then like, slowly turning gay."

this ask weirdly personal so fuck it this is gonna be anonymous feel free to delete if it makes u uncomfy 

7. That’s also a part about Hubris Rachel clearly doesn’t get: it was always committed by rich, often people in high authority, NEVER lowly farmers or the poorest of ancient society. They always knew better. Niobe was a queen! Minos was a king! Arachne was the rich, spoiled daughter of a really successful merchant. Sisyphus was a cunning king. The trojan war was kicked off by royal drama. The list goes on and on. You have to notice these things and genuinely study the myths or you become like Rachel, who seems convinced the poorest people would be stupid enough to not only defy their bosses, but the gods themselves? They would be the last people to do such a thing! They don’t have the ingrained sense of entitlement and arrogance like the rich and powerful to even dare act like that towards the gods, as is the case with hubris. Because of this, Rachel ends up creating a narrative that the rich and powerful (literal GODS) are the real victims to those cruel, uppity poor people, going as far as to say in comic they deserve to be slaves for hades’ benefit and they’re wrong for ever hating Persephone for, you know, murdering them because she had a bad day! They should know their place! It’s absolutely insane that she doesn’t actually seem to realize what she’s writing. Unless she does, which is an even bigger issue, and shows a really dark look into how she views the world and society and how it should be run. It’s all a bad look. 

8. Have you seen the "The demon, is here in the room right now?" meme

Welp, that's literally Persephone and her "feeling"

I legit saw that video about a dude faking a mental illnes (and seeing a demon that made him do bad things) after he commited a crime and that was so cringy and I can't stop thinking about Persephone confessing her AOW like that

[horseyfuture]

Lockdown 2021

Welcome, you sickening metallic pervert. I don’t know why I even tolerate you, my dues to the club have long since been settled and yet still you show up with your corrugated spleen and your laminated nipples. What? Oh, it’s you. With your simple fleshy appendages and some kind of yellow blancmange for a CPU. I suppose you will suffice. Bend yourself over the table there and we’ll get on with the show. Liquid soap’s on the side, next to the antique bum-hammer.

---

Aries: You find yourself repeatedly followed by crows. This is in no way related to the quite normal phenomenon in which a murder of crows will adopt a human who feeds them, bringing them trinkets and even offering them protection from aggressors. No, these crows find you sexy. Leaping about in your lounge, wearing your goth tops and flapping your arms to the rhythms of online parties, the crows all agree that you are “SKRARK!” or, in Crow, “one fine piece of floppy human tail”. Well done! Crows have good taste and make excellent lovers.

Taurus: Every time you open that damn Taurus mouth of yours, you sound like a broken record. I mean, literally, you sound like a piece of badly scratched vinyl. That’s been up the wrong bit of a rhino. And is being played using a bent nail. Through the speakers of a brown ‘65 Ford Allegro. In Ipswitch. In the rain. On a Wednesday. In November. That’s a lot of detail to pack into an accent every time you decide to prattle on about crisps. People find it offputting.

Gemini: On a whim, you buy yourself a File-o-fax, you know, from the 80s. You must have seen one in a kitschy American TV show or something. While excessively bored on a Sunday afternoon, you begin to fill in some of the entries from your mobile phone. As soon as you finish writing the first one, Adam, he calls! What a crazy coincidence! You move onto the next, Beth - then SHE calls! That’s just insane! As you move onto the next name, you think “My god, what if I bought a MAGICAL File-o-fax? What adventures could I HAVE?” - You look down at the table in awe, when suddenly it all becomes clear: next to the Magic File-o-fax is the Magic Empty Bottle of Gin. Ah.

Cancer: Singing a song about beans, YEAH! Singing a song about toast! Singing a song about beans on toast, ‘cos that food you like the most, WOO! Singing a song about waffles? NO! Can’t be arsed making them! Beans on toast takes like two tiny minutes and waffles take about fucking ten! (FUCK THAT!) Singing a song into the beans can! While the beans turn in the microwave, ALRIGHT! Naming individual beans (YEAH!) pretend they’re all going to a beans rave! (WHISTLE POSSE!) Shovelling the beans into your mouth WOO! Toasting bread is for twats! (LO-SERS!) Pouring cold beans onto your face and half of them fall onto the cat! (SEND HELP!)

Leo: After a successful hour’s staring at the stippled ceiling, you reward yourself with a brisk walk to the door. After three proud steps, diligently recorded by your fitness band (which you’re fairly certain is now emitting a dull weeping sound), you jubilantly punch the air and have a nice relaxing pass out on the floor. After another few hours, you surf another boost of energy and nearly make it to the fridge. Sadly, though this goal is destined to elude you as you trip over a recently-delivered Amazon envelope. A handful of attempts in, you succeed at opening the envelope (only stopping twice to catch breath) and discover it to contain one flimsy plastic finger measurer and a £60 voucher for a wine subscription. You remember the partner you once had, in the distant before times, so vibrant and loud. In recognition of having had what you’re certain is “a feeling”, you fling the ring-measurer away, order the wine and settle into a nice, relaxing cry.

Virgo: There are a number of St Bernards around your neighbourhood and you’ve started to find them more than a little intimidating. What began as friendly barks as you passed in the street has developed into the odd growl and now barking as the owners pull their wretched beasts back from you, swearing in anguish as their hounds’ slavering jaws snap at your heels. After a few weeks of this, Monthly Bath Weekend inevitably comes round and the problem seems to just go away.

Libra: Some people have been baking recently. They - of course - are twats. Others have chosen to use this time to improve existing music skills, or even pick up a new instrument in their abundance of free time. Shit-eating scum, each and every one of them. You are not going to be affected by this self-improvement bullshit and have decided to strike out on your own, tangibly making yourself less pleasant, skilled and attractive with each passing day. Monday is fudge-eating class. Tuesday, “how long can I sit on the loo?” marathons (5 hours PB). Wednesday is Yelling ‘BASTARDS’ at the Sky Day, while Thursday (being the new Friday) you party on down with a life-size model of Prince made from your own toenails. Friday you slam your face into cupboards, repeating the word “APES” in a dull monotone. At the weekend, it’s time to rest! Phew! Just a few hours drilling holes in the ceiling, a slip, a tumble, a fall, a crunching sound and a view from the underside of a very poorly constructed step-ladder until it all goes beautifully dark.

Scorpio: Fuck this, you’re buying beach balls. Yep. Why not? You do, in fact, buy beach balls. Why didn’t you think of this before? They’re bright. They’re entertaining. They’re CHEAP. You can order them in large quantities, it turns out. “Ooh, I hope you’re not having a party!” says the delivery man, with a wink “HAHAHAH, NO. Actually I’m just INFLATING THEM AND POPPING THEM” you cackle toward his suddenly retreating face. It takes a while to inflate all 400, but the high you get from blowing them up is quite intense! Now you have a house full of beach balls! Haha! You can’t bring yourself to pop them in the end. Some of them are lost to accidents (fried beach ball, anyone?) and others you draw on with crude faces of past enemies, then open the door and punt them down the street with a hearty “FUCK YOU, BEATRICE!” (or Ken, as appropriate. You had few enemies. It’s cheap therapy). The last few hundred last you happily into the next month, though the doctor is mildly unimpressed when you attempt to get them vaccinated.

Sagittarius: Your attempts at making LEGO sex toys go badly to begin with. But, weirdly, you do eventually get better at it. You’re particularly proud of the one where you use the gearbox from the racing car for, well, you know. The winking pneumatic sex-donkey (8,014 bricks) is, in most people’s opinion, your pièce de résistance. You can’t wait for the highstreet to open up again, so you can go and show off your repertoire down the local toyshop.

Capricorn: It’s tough getting through lockdown without the internet. In your case, though, it is entirely self-inflicted. You made a promise to yourself to cut down on the doomscrolling and it was successful! Prodigiously so! You end up cutting out the news sites - who needs them? - then the social sites - nothing but trash! - then eventually you just pull the wires out of your router and fling it in the bin with some bits of leftover chicken. Time passes, politicians come and go, vaccines are invented, distributed, mostly successful (with only a small amount of people instantly turning into tiny, angry lizards) and eventually the world passes through the danger period and back into something like normality! You, of course, miss this entirely and get on with your new hobby of writing subversive poetry on the walls in dollops of mouldy Marmite. Weirdly, you ARE happier.

Aquarius: Lockdown doesn’t seem to be getting to you too badly this month (whichever month it turns out to be). You did get to a bit of a peak when you were popping a Toblerone up your bum while playing kazoos just to get yourself ready for the next bloody Zoom meeting of the day, you now you’re limiting it to one bar per day and only using the two kazoos, you feel like you’ve hit your stride, found your flow, really made the most of every work-from-home hour the Lord sends. Ah, yes, the Lord truly has kept you to the virtuous path. Without your faith, you would never have got through the dark days. Sat there on his throne of Bourbons, wearing his Chocolate Finger crown. Slowly rotating on the lazy Susan you bought so you could efficiently respect His Majesty from any angle with a deft flick of the wrist (and a few Bourbons in the eyes if you get too excited). The mighty Lord. You assume his name was Lord. There were only a few letters you could read on the collar when you found him by the bins. Ah, yes. The bins. The biscuits. The Lord. The rapture. Amen.

Pisces: After popping to the door to bring in a food delivery, you notice the day looks quite pleasant for a change, pop a mask on and go for a nice walk. On the way back, you notice a ladder leant up against a tree, with a strange golden light shimmering from high in the branches. Climbing the ladder, you hear the sound of a party, people calling your name in joy, whistles and whoops, clapping and laughter. You tumble into the golden light and down a kind of shoot as a fanfare plays. The dazzling light fades, the noise abates gently and you are sat on your sofa. On the TV are the words “LEVEL 4: YODELLING GEESE”. The geese filling your living room immediately begin to yodel with anger.

---

By the sainted elbows of Bobby Tavistocke, we got there in the end. I may have been a little over-brutal with my use of the bum-hammer there, for which I apologise. Anyway, you have extracted your price once more and I have little left to give. Pick up your clothes and get out of my living room.

As usual, you may of course take a fairy cake. We’ve got the nice ones this week.

DEPART!

[i3utterflyeffect]

Paper Mario & The Origami King: Shortcomings

Okay. So. Here’s the thing: This is my first Paper Mario game. I’ve seen playthroughs, yeah, but that’s about it.

I’ve seen a lot of people gripe about how Color Splash or whatever it’s called changed a lot of mechanics of Paper Mario, but I’m not going to be talking about that. So... yeah. No ‘first Gen was better’ sort of stuff.

Also, this is completely my opinion. I am in no way trying to bash you if you do enjoy this game, because you know what? Good for you! It makes you happy; don’t let me, some random internet person, stop you! These are just flaws that I’ve noticed and wanted to point out.

So with that out of the way, these are my four big gripes with the Origami King.

.

1: Character Design

The character design for the Legion Of Stationery is... extremely, extremely underwhelming. Like, look at this.

I can appreciate the fights, they’re pretty fun, but like... come on... It’s... it’s just a stapler. It’s just colored pencils. 

Almost all of them are like this.

Tape? Just tape. Hole punch? Just a hole punch. SCISSORS? THEY’RE SCISSORS!

THEY DIDN’T EVEN BOTHER PUTTING EYES ON THEM. OR GIVING THEM PUNNY NAMES.

Now. I will make one exception: Rubber Band.

Look! This is creative! This is fun! I like this; It’s a little rubber-band doll, and not just one big rubber band! I mean... Once you beat it and strip it to the bare bones, it’s just one big rubber band; but the design itself is more than that.

I understand focusing most of your design power onto the Vellumentals, Olly, and Olivia, if they didn’t quite have enough time or manpower for that. But if they had gotten that, I feel that the Legion of Stationery could have been... a lot less boring.

.

2: The Hammer

Okay. This is a tiny thing but it pisses me off so bad.

The hammer. You don’t press it as soon as the the meter turns red. If you do that, you only get a Great.

You press it just before the red goes away, and you know you’ve timed it right when you see the blue again for like, a millisecond. 

I have one question

WHY? 

I don’t get it! Why would you time it like that? It should absolutely be as soon as the red appears! Do I have an unusually fast reaction time? I don’t think I do?

...I swear Olivia said at the beginning it’s ‘as soon as the meter turns red’. I really, really hope I’m not imagining that, because it’s been driving me nuts the whole game.

It’s not to say it’s impossible to time it right; you just... can’t rely on the supposed cue. Which is really, really weird.

.

2.5: Gameplay Review Which May Be Unreliable and/or Biased

Listen. I’m going to be upfront about 2 things:

I don’t have the best coordination out there.

I am terrible at puzzle games, and have the memory of a goldfish.

The gameplay was... usually fun. Usually.

Every now and then, though, it became super, super frustrating, for one reason or another.

It took me a while to figure out that sometimes, you have to hit things to get a Magic Circle. In Whispering Woods, I was running around like a headless chicken trying to figure out how to bust open the party popper and get to the Soul Seed.

I also really didn’t want to hit the trees because I felt bad; so until I (finally) searched up a guide, I was just completely lost.

To be fair: they did give me Olivia, and probably expected me to use her.

ALTHOUGH, there was Breezy Tunnel as well; it was pretty obvious to me how to cheer up Olivia; but it wasn’t obvious that I had to backtrack and... be contacted by Bobby’s ghost apparently.

And the final of my gameplay gripes: Shy Guys Finish Last.

Dear god, I hated that. I passed it, yes, but I really hated it. Maybe I just got unlucky with the minigame roulette and got a bad first impression, but honestly, I never want to go back there again.

...why were they even there? Do I want to know? Probably not.

.

3: The Ending

The ending... Oh, the ending.

Listen.

The gameplay was okay. It was occasionally frustrating, sure. But I’m probably not reliable with that part.

But the story beats... oh, the story beats. They could have been done so much better and it breaks my heart.

It felt so much like the writers panicked and crammed everything they could into the end, and if they’d just taken a little more time, I feel like it could have been so much better.

And...

Let me break down the 2 parts that bother me the most.

.

Olly’s Last-Minute 360

The motivation doesn’t actually bother me. I know it might seem ridiculous to some other people, but let me tell you: Some people are just like that.

My issue is with him suddenly going ‘oh, what I did was wrong’. It felt... Rushed. Sudden. Kind of hollow.

If he’d died angry, it would have felt much more impactful; to see what had been written on the paper all this time, to realize that Olly had been doing this in pointless, selfish anger, when the note had been something so kind.

Instead, it’s just ‘i was wrooonnnngggg..... you beat the crap out of me so hard i had a complete change in personality....’

I guess I can understand if that was the only way they could think of to get the thousandth-paper-crane thing kicked off. Folding him into the thousandth paper crane was impactful too, even if I feel that it was an unrealistic change in personality.

But the very end. The very end is what gets me the most.

Olivia’s Double-Bladed Wish (and How Nintendo Did Her Dirty)

So.

As you might know, at the very end, Olivia wishes for all the origami that Olly folded to be unfolded again.

Hey, Nintendo? Why did you gloss over the fact that Olivia FUCKING DIED?

She died from that wish because her brother finished folding her!

She was being folded by the Origami Craftsman when Olly trapped him, so he took the unfinished product and finished her!

SHE DIED! Nintendo, you barely even acknowledged that! 

It was literally just like “oh, where’d origami girl go?” and that was about it! Nintendo, you dirty cowards! 

Bobby got more sendoff than Olivia. A bob-omb that was with us for two streamers got more sendoff than the companion with us for the entire game. (don’t get me wrong, Bobby’s great and all, but he got more sendoff than Olivia.)

Why? Why would you do that? You hardly even acknowledged her sacrifice. Not even a single firework in her honor.

I know people say that resurrecting a dead character means the original death was surefire shock value, but even that would feel more fufilling.

Just stick an after-credits scene back at the Origami Craftsman’s house, where Olivia is refolded anew from the parts that Olly had not folded, and that would have felt so much more satisfying than the end we got.

Which brings us to the final point:

.

4: Unrewarding Completion

In my opinion, the ending felt extremely unrewarding.

I had this issue with BOTW too: It just kicks you back to the last save before completion, and it feels like nothing you did mattered at all; Like the ‘It was just a dream’ trope.

You’re just back again, standing before the door of the final boss.

It feels more like a punishment than anything to me.

I understand it from a gameplay perspective. There wouldn’t be any more folded soldiers to fight; no more enemies, no more challenge. But combined with an underwhelming ending and Olivia dying and not even being acknowledged, it didn’t feel rewarding at all.

.

Conclusion/TL;DR

Paper Mario and the Origami King could have been better.

However, they focused on gameplay, and I understand the thought process that led to that decision. An enjoyable playing experience is the most important part of a game.

The character designs may have been underwhelming, and the story may have not reached full potential, but in the end, the gameplay is most important.

However, I feel that the ending could have used more work, and it’s unfortunate that it ended up turning out in such a disappointing fashion.

If you like puzzle games, then you might enjoy this game. It’s generally enjoyable, and the dialogue isn’t too bad. 

Just keep in mind that the ending might not be too rewarding, so don’t rush; take your time to enjoy the game by finding collectibles and saving toads.

[artboitrash]

His Bloody Rose (Stefano Valentini fanfiction) Chapter 6 - Wary

I sat alone in the hallway. I had been waiting for several minutes, there hadn't been another person to walk passed me for a while. I needed to talk to the head of the art department about my work in the gallery, to ensure all the current paper work was up to date.

The dean was late to come back to the office. It happens, but I was still a little annoyed. Sometimes the staff doesn't come in until later in the day, but the dean had been called across campus.

My painting instructor, the gallery organizer, walked passed and saw me. "Good afternoon." she said, making me look up.

"Oh, good afternoon." I said as well, standing from my chair.

She laughed. "Are you waiting for me, or are you waiting for your bus, or. . .?"

I realized I must have looked incredibly bored or annoyed. "Oh, no... I was waiting for the dean of the art department."

She smiled in understanding. "She went home today. There was a family emergency and had to run home."

I looked down sheepishly. "Alright, I'll try again some other time."

"Everything okay?"

"Yeah, I was trying to make sure all of my working paperwork was in order."

"Oh." My instructor nodded. She smiled at me. "Don't worry, there's always tomorrow or the next day. The semester doesn't end for a few months still, so you'll have time to come back."

"Alrighty." I said quietly.

My painting professor continued walking down the hallway to her office. The main office was locked, and no one was coming to unlock it.

That cleared my entire day. My last class instructor had cancelled, and my only other class had been let out early. I frowned to myself, then turned to gather my things.

It's not a bad thing, it happens. I thought in my mind, trying to stop this perceived slight from making my mind tumble into a worse depression. It's not a bad thing, it's not a bad thing, it's normal for things to go slightly wrong.

I decided to go down to the gallery and chat with Angela. I had already done my hours for the day, so maybe I can just chat while I wait for the next bus. I began walking down the hallway, thinking about what I would talk about.

Or, I really don't feel like socializing. I frowned to myself, and stopped walking, pulling out my phone to check the time. I had an hour and a half at least until I have to catch my bus.

I sighed. I walked down the hallway, but looked for an outlet near a sitting area instead. The hallway was almost completely empty, so I could make my choice of sitting area, but most hallway outlets were on the bottom floor. So I hoped I could make find one up here that was free. Maybe I can just lose myself in the internet for a little while.

"Hello again."

I looked up from the floor of the hallway. I saw a well dressed man standing before me with bangs covering his right eye several paces away. He wore a light blue dress shirt and what looked like suit pants, probably the most casual I'd ever seen him dressed. I hadn't seen him for about two and a half weeks, but there stood the enigma of a man, still out of place in a college atmosphere. Stefano smiled at me, and I blinked in surprise. He began to close the distance between us, and stopped in front of me.

"I had come for a follow-up meeting to discuss the gallery I am hoping to host, and here you are again." He chuckled lowly. "I always run into you before I go on to my meetings, it seems."

I smiled weakly. "It's nice to see you again, too."

Stefano stopped smiling. "Is everything okay with you?"

I blinked and turned away. I still felt guilty from thinking about his involvement with the serial killer case. Of course I would run into him while I'm not feeling well. "Yeah, sorry. I'm just not having the best day."

"We can't have that, miss Rose." A hand gripped my chin, making me look up at him. His eyes seemed to darken when he looked at me. "Stay with me. After my meeting I can make you feel better."

I pulled out of his hand. "Sorry, I. . ."

I felt a sickness pool in my stomach. It was enough to make me overwhelmed, to make the depressive feeling take over. Before I knew it, I was completely overcome with helplessness and ready to cry. I felt stranded with nowhere to turn. I knew it wasn't true, but the sensation in my head completely ruined any thought that might help me calm down.

I can't let myself do this. Not again.

I felt fingers guide my chin up, more gently this time. I was looking into Stefano's eyes. There was a burning intensity in them, he seemed angry, but not at me.

"Has someone hurt you?" he asked lowly.

I looked away, backing away from the man in front of me. "Go on to your meeting. I'm fine--"

"You're about to cry."

I looked back at him.

"Miss Rose, you do know that I can see through everything people try and show me, correct?" He frowned, but didn't make a motion to touch me again. "I am a photographer, and I have seen every emotion hidden under the sun. It is impossible for someone to hide their feelings and real thoughts from me when it is always so plainly written on their face."

I watched as his unhidden eye flickering between mine, seemingly unsure of which one to focus on. I nodded.

"Were you on your way home?"

"No, I was thinking about just sitting until the next bus."

"You take the bus?"

I nodded again, letting myself look at his face. "I don't drive. I'm a little too scared to."

He didn't respond to that. After a moment, Stefano held out his left hand towards me, as always clad in a leather glove. He smiled warmly.

"Come with me, Rose."

I looked at his hand, hesitating. I couldn't bring myself to care what would happen to myself. If I would regret it, I would regret it. If I was right those weeks ago, if he was the serial killer, I couldn't bring myself to care if I was the next victim.

Swallowing the nausea and lump in my throat, I lifted my hand and fit it in his. His grasp gently closed around mine, and when I looked up, his smile had not changed. His eyes looked at me with a gentle look that I hadn't seen in them yet. I swallowed again and just watched him.

He began to walk slowly down the hallway. I felt warm, and oddly safe. I blinked and walked a little closer to his body.

"Why do you want me to come with you?" I managed after I found my voice.

Stefano glanced slightly down at me. "You have been kind and helpful to me, bella. You have treated me in ways that is rare these days, so I think that should be rewarded."

"Rewarded for you or for me?"

He stared at me, an obvious puzzled look crossing his face. "Why would I reward myself for your work and kindness?"

I smiled slightly. I couldn't bring myself to respond to him.

My chest hurt. For some reason, when I was around Stefano or let my thoughts meander about him, I began to feel sick. If I keep thinking about him, my chest begins to hurt. Like I'm hollow, searching for something to fill me. Trying to ignore it never seems to help, but I can't really do anything about it.

I don't want to feel myself falling anymore, but it's so hard to keep myself from my own emotions.

I leaned my head against his arm, his cologne surrounding me as we walked. I felt empty and sick, but comforted by staying with him.

Stefano stopped walking, and I heard a clunking sound. "Oh, damn." he muttered.

I looked up, realizing we had come to the dean's office again. I stood up straight, feeling an odd sense of vertigo overtake me.

"It seems they've gone out again." he said with a tone of annoyance. "Would you mind waiting with me?"

"Oh, sorry, I should have said that." I said.

Stefano looked down at me quizzically.

"Sorry, I had been waiting too, before we met up. She went home because of some family emergency."

He sighed, though it seemed to be for show. "Perhaps we should try to reschedule again. I'm not quite fond of having my plans rewritten."

"The gallery organizer is here, though. I can take you to her office."

Stefano smiled at me. He lifted his right hand, patting my head, then drawing a knuckle down the side of my face. I shivered as a tingle went down the back of my spine. He chuckled.

"Would it be too much to ask of you?" he murmured, leaning down and planting a kiss on the top of my head.

I froze, feeling the emptiness ache even worse. I turned to him, unsure of what I felt as he rested his right hand on the back of my head. I leaned into his kiss, trying to make the pain go away, my heart beginning to burst inside of me. He had kissed me three times now, as though to just reassure me that he only wanted my kindness, but since we had only met three times it seemed improper.

"Why do you kiss me?" I murmured as he pulled away.

He looked down at me with that same neutral expression that covered his face when he was thinking. He just blinked at me, then turned away.

"Can you show me where her office is?" was all he said.

I paused, trying to piece together if that was meant to be an answer. I realized I was an idiot, then silently turned and began to walk towards my instructor's office. He followed me, letting his hand let go of mine.

I didn't look back at him. I felt my stomach turn, feeling unhappy for some reason. I realized how unrealistic I had been. There is no reason that I'm putting any trust in this man, no reason I'm letting him touch me and especially kiss anywhere on my body. I've only met him three times, I don't know him.

He's a stranger.

I felt my emotions boil over and I felt overwhelmed again. I could only imagine how he thought of me. I probably looked so easy to him, an easy target to make fall for him, someone to chew up and use.

I felt my eyes tear up as I tried to choke down my emotions. God I was being irrational about everything. The first person I've ever met to get this kind of rise out of me, to make me feel like I wanted to be around them. I couldn't keep Stefano out of my mind since I met him, the way he held himself and spoke just intrigued me, and all I could think was how I wanted to know more about him.

I wonder if I'm about to hit my period. My hormones turn me on my head when I'm about to start my monthly cycle.

We reached the teacher's door, and I silently pointed at it. I heard his footsteps stop behind me.

"Thank you, bella Rosa." Stefano said. His voice was withdrawn, as though coaxing me to look at him.

I didn't, I simply turned down the hall and kept walking. I felt pain in my chest as I walked away. Who am I fooling? No one but myself.

I sniffed as I heard a knock on the door behind me. I opened the door to the stairs and started walking down. I kept choking down my tears, holding onto the railing to make sure I wouldn't fall. I can't let myself go through this, not again. I've been heartbroken enough, I don't need to let myself feel it again.

Why am I choked up about this? Why do I have to be an emotional idiot?

I made my way to the bottom of the staircase. I walked into the hallway, and looked out the window. The sky was dark and it was raining. I laughed, feeling myself snap out of the depression I had been stewing in all day. Even if it was at least for a moment, it was alleviated.

How moody.

I walked to the window and pulled out my phone. I took some pictures, hoping they turned out decently. I love the rain, love the feeling it tends to instill in people.

I walked to the door next to the window and went outside. I took my bag off and set it by the wall. I stood still in the rain, looking out into the sky. I sighed quietly, feeling the heavy rain hit my face and dampen my clothes.

This is real, I thought to myself. This is the world around me. I don't have to find happiness or love, I don't have to find anyone.

I don't want anyone, I told myself. I knew that wasn't quite true. But it was what I've been telling myself for so many years.

I glanced at my bag, then walked further into the rain, beginning to smile. My shirt was almost completely wet, and I felt a chill begin to instill into my body.

This is real. The ridiculous feelings I've been imagining aren't.

I just stood in the rain.

This is real...

I stopped smiling. I turned my face away from the sky. I could feel hot tears beginning to flow down my cheeks.

What am I even doing?

I'm behaving like even more of an idiot, that's what. I'm arguing with myself over something so insignificant, about someone who isn't even remotely part of my life.

I felt something wrap around me. I looked down as what appeared to be a black blanket covered my head and blue-clothed arms wrapped around my stomach.

"Dio mio. . ." I heard a voice murmur behind me. "You are going to make yourself sick, my dear."

I turned around, looking into the eyes of Stefano. He sighed.

"What are we going to do with you, hm?"

I tucked my head into his shoulder, closing my eyes. I realized he had put a coat around my shoulders, it looked like the coat I had first seen him in. I placed my hands on his chest, feeling warmth branch through my body. Stefano held my body to his, rubbing my shoulder.

"Why are you so sweet to me, Stefano?"

"Does there need to be a reason?"

I hesitated. "What do you want from me?"

Stefano went silent again. He simply held me close, and I let myself just... feel it. It hurt inside my heart. I didn't want to feel anymore, I wanted to tear out my heart and forget my life.

His warmth, his cologne, and his pulse were all I was aware of. I could still feel the rain hitting my back, but his head was blocking it from hitting mine.

"Stefano?"

"Hmm?"

"Why are you acting like this today? You haven't acted like yourself since we met."

He lowered his head, turning his face into my hair. I could feel his breath running through my hair, rain water running down onto my head and sending a chill down my back.

"You are inspiring me, bella." he whispered. "You do not act like others to me, and you see my work in its true beauty. You have shown me more kindness than anyone I know."

I could tell some of what he was saying was rehearsed. I couldn't bring myself to care. I didn't want to feel pain anymore, I was so tired and ready for it all to stop.

"Come with me, bella mia." he whispered to me. "Let me capture your beauty."

I laughed into his shoulder. "You might want to take a second look, I'm not someone you want in your portfolio."

"Then you need a better mirror, or perhaps a better photographer."

I pushed myself into him. I knew then, I knew.

He was the serial killer. He was the murderer looking for victims in Krimson. If I was his last resort, or newest victim, then so be it. I didn't want this life, so I would rather give it to someone who would care more about it than me.

I looked up at him, seeing his eye open and look into mine.

"Only if you let me do one thing." I whisper back.

"Anything, bella. Anything."

I raised my hands, gently touching his face. His eye followed them, then met mine again. It was strange how human he felt, how real he felt under my touch. I pulled him down to me, pressing my lips to his. His jaw moved under my hands as his lips molded to mine. I wrapped my arms around his neck, feeling his hands tense around my shoulders.

He leaned into me, lips parting mine and filling my mouth with his breath. The ache took me over and I held tight. I anchored myself to this singular moment, feeling the softness of his lips press into mine, the heat of his body warming me and holding me, securing me to him.

I pulled away, feeling him pull back as well. His visible eye opened and looked down at me.

"I'll come with you now." I whispered.

His face didn't change as he looked at me. His eye shifted, changing like a strange liquid giving away his emotions. It flickered down my face, looking at me.

He pulled back, walking away from me. He picked up my bag and something sitting by it that I hadn't noticed. A camera lay by my bag on top of Stefano's portfolio.

He walked back to me, tucking his portfolio and camera into my bag and closing it, slinging it over his shoulder. He wrapped his left arm around my shoulders, guiding me with him. I shivered as the warmth came through me again. I leaned into him and let myself close my eyes. If this was going to be my last time, I wanted to feel happiness. I never felt real happiness, never felt anything like this. Any time I had fallen in love I was used, abused, and left heartbroken.

Stefano Valentini is a serial killer.

And I want him to be the last person I fall in love with.

Because he is the only one that has been truly kind to me.

[fadinginfluencerblaze]

Fallen Dreams

 Disclaimer~ Art is devised by me and all editorial work is a solo operation. “Fallen,” will be my last publication before my vacation: https://adventvoice.newgrounds.com/news/post/1057611 If you would like commissions or requests for art work done please visit my patreon  account   https://www.patreon.com/AdventVoice  https://adventvoice.newgrounds.com/news/post/1057550      https://adventvoice.newgrounds.com/news/post/1057522

From several authorities of art and creativity, I’ve heard something after completing “Loving My Dragon,” something I’ve not heard since I was sixteen. My ability in the arts is worth more than a few hearts, likes and the endorsements of a few passerbys. It is better than what people have been forced to digest in the past twenty four years. Could be longer really. Depends on your tolerance for main stream media.

Forced to settle, due to never being exposed to minds similar to my own. Which there are a lot of us. I’ve realized as I dig deeper into the internet, blogs, and journals of other dreamers.

There was a study, a social experiment really, given by Facebook and other online platforms, seeking to gauge how to rate worker performance by emoji. Wanting to reward creative minds who earn the most accolades and applause of the people. It can become rather addictive and I find I may be falling into that same trend. Advertising more or less for the approbation of people and not so much for pay.

I explained this to a few supporters and they were shocked. Believing me to be worth far more than the few seconds of increased impressions on twitter and the level of dinner table conversation I can influence with a few well directed bards and illustrations of the latest trending topic.

Now if only I could find a paying sponsor that believes the same thing. Then me and the Dream Weaver would really go places. Here’s the thing about me, that is different from your average ambitious and dedicated creator. I don’t want to go anywhere my friends won’t be invited to reap the benefits.    

I’ve seen too much in this life to believe I can do anything on my own and be a success at it. You know I remember a time when people could have 500+ Facebook friends and no one spend a dollar with or on each other. On anything that could turn a profit. Nearly a thousand people talking, interacting, mingling and no money is made on the effort. Oh there is a lot of sexy talk, a lot of people locked up cause the girl is underage and the guy is enthralled with her pictures. Oh there was a lot of room fo shows like “Cheaters,” to corner a market in tracking people via location recognition devices on the broadband signatures, but for nearly ten years, no one was making any real money that would put them on the Forbes list as the best entrepreneur, besides those buying out all of the larger retail stores and Disney. Could be why I spend so much money on everyone else and not on myself. Makes me feel like I am saving the small business owners world, one click at a time.

The loss of Tina-Raze  on the                                         internet and access to her work has really made me appreciate the gift of visibility attributed to my own work. Sure I desire a physical gallery, but that cost money and you need dedicated staff. An online gallery is a one man show that will last as long as I have material, drive and an interactive audience. But when outside forces wage against one’s output and you are forced to erase everything and the years put into a showcase are no longer accessible; there is something daunting in the realization that everyday I have a chance to present anything, it should not be wasted on the trivial.

That is a sharp word because I highly doubt any of us have the authoritative right to define what is relevant or trivial to a creator. We can choose to interact with a product of not but we can’t say what someone was seeking to share has no value and thus erase them from existence. Not if we have any respect for the sanctity of the culture of art and the freedom in which we universally share this gift.      

~ I can never say enough of how much I appreciate the time we shared and I hope you return to the creative scene soon Tina-Raze.~

 I was reviewing “The Action Bible,” published by David Cook and illustrated by Sergio Cariello. It is an extensive publication that sought to illustrate the entire Bible, without the mistakes seen in previous renditions. It really took that whole group a while to find the best method to bring the Bible to life for young and old readers. I enjoyed their expressive illustrative skills and dedication to keeping to as much as can be had with a book as fantastic as the Bible.

What surprised me was the decision to eliminate the wings of angels and go with the ‘golden locks,’ signature.  For years the wings of angels and demons played a big part in aiding people in separating the two worlds. Without the wings, we are no more than disembodied spirits, ghosts of our formers selves and have a long journey yet to that pinnacle of glory that awaits the faithful. So it was taught to me at least.

There were a lot of ideas shared with me as boy that I spend little time contemplating now, because I am a man and more than assured of where I will be regardless of the mistakes in this life.

Others may doubt. Others may seek to clip my wings as I ascend. Others may project their insecurities and through bitter imaginations suggest that because of the curse of Ham, and Nimrod, the black race will never have a place in heaven. Some may build a whole world of fantastical proportions and place compartments, as zookeepers, locks and doors upon the gates, with signs that say, “If you never drank yourself into oblivion while on earth, you go here, you never loved anyone but God you go here, if you never where tempted to fuck a woman in the ass, though she begged for it, you go here.”

Another sign reads, “Collect your white wings for perfect attendance on the earth, to every Sunday meeting.” In this corner of heaven, you should have received a notice in your casket upon death, we were sure to send Gabriel, who after years of working for God, never got his golden winged promotion.

All who have been the black sheep of the family and have been to prison more than once in their life time be sure to collect your “black wings,” down isle five. Five is the number for grace and that is the only reason you’re hear, so don’t be cute and try to steal the ‘white wings,’ from your betters, who happen to shine a little sharper in hue and have more gold flakes in their hair.  

Those who were on earth and always fought for a righteous cause but failed to achieve any victory and remain angry behind the loss, you will receive your ‘red wings,’ in the dust falcons chamber. Some of you were clumsy on earth. Always bumping into things. Could never walk in heels or win a fashion show. Never turned the heads of men or appealed to women. Had a haunch in you back from never learning poise and posturing. Be sure to pick up your set of ‘spotted owl,’ wings, found in the east gate.

God is a god of order and angles never complain about their lot in heaven. There in whatever state they are in, there, they are to be content. There is a hint of a karmic code in association with the hue and colors of heaven and I was never one to believe in eastern influences when it comes to what my place in heaven would be like. I bend so far on earth, doing what I am told, I will go to heaven with white skin, white wings and all curse will be lifted from my body upon death and the curse of the previous life that marred me and made me black, while I was alive.  

I don’t think so. No, I’ve believed for a long time now that even black angles deserve to fly.   https://avproductionsblog.wordpress.com/2017/11/03/even-black-angels-deserve-to-fly/   https://avproductionsblog.wordpress.com/2017/03/18/you-read-it-here-first-black-amethyst/

I know I am not one to be denied.

Those of you that know how to twirl and twerk and shake your tail feathers, to win the Twerk Team Auditions https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rba9Z0CcWwQ&list=PLxwfHzPeMrG0N0E5Q3hBI_vRjXl-BqJAR or hang out with DJ UNK https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TeLdCPINh6M and earn 15 minutes of fame for being a video vixen with a phat ass, you can gather your eagle wings in the North tower. You should notice the Notorious BIG Smalls in the butlers uniform, set to serve and assist you wonderful ladies in fitting for your wings. He was always so good at zipping up Faith Evans dresses, we thought he’d like doing that for eternity.

Just stand there and zip wings.

He was way too dark and ugly so he never earned his own, but Puff Daddy sand and danced enough to ensure he’d make it in.  

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0LHyvFryW2M

What a joke, eh that might have been a cheap shot to bring Puff Daddy and Biggie into this conversation, it’s just, I am so sick of color being a barrier for people I guess. But as long as there are people, it will play a part in the minds of men and women that hold their minds hostage and will build politics and kingdoms centered around it. We will split God into figures of hued stone that resembles us in some fashion and suggest if he looks like me, then he is the one that created me. Odd considering how I can create characters of different races, backgrounds and love each with as much joy as the next. Why would I doubt God would love me less because my hair is not wavy or red and ruddy and my skin is not peached or pinked, but bronzed and red? Why is my tolerance for people and the curves, shapes and hues greater than that of a god and I am a mere man?

King Solomon, black but comely: I am glad I’ve never heard it taught, due to Solomon’s hue of skin the temple came down. Why are we so caught up with color that we would actually base our safety on it, risk our lives for it? When in the middle of turmoil, pain, upheaval, or simply in a moment of benign joy during an annual parade in the city, color should be the last thing discussed.

Ever since I was a boy, I’ve held a rigid position on color talk. I had to be set because all of my friends where white. My first love was a gothic princess, that used to put a cat collar and a leash around my neck. I lived in New Jersey and traveled to upstate New York and Ohio all the time and had so much fun playing video games, poker or reading comics with white people. Lived in Kansas where they tried to make me where a confederate uniform for the JROTC program. I did not know if it was a joke of if they really felt I would be honoring someone’s death by wearing that uniform.

I sought to be above the barriers poised by classification and color because I am an artist.  Because I am a storyteller and find relevance in people and can’t deny anyone based on my insecurities. I would not want someone to look at me and deny me access to anything. A communicable discussion, a forum, anything political, or my own comfort and what I believe to be good for me because of my color, because  their preconceived beliefs  denotes I should be marginalized.

I laughed myself into stitches, when during my junior year of highschool I realized all of the black children expected me to eat my lunch on the wall and away from the ‘preppy-white,’ children because they decided to self-segregate. Because they felt they did not have a life style or come from a family that could afford to play golf at the local country club. That they would not and were not admitted to be  apart of a society setting our grandparents and great grandparents were conditionally denied. I was infuriated by the idea of having to defend my home and right to existence, from people of my own color, if I ever married an Asian, white, Indian, Arab, anything besides a black woman. Especially to look at me, you’d never out right believe I was of African decent until I grew out my hair, which I would wear proudly, long and wild.

Fredrick Douglas had nothing on me in my desire to topple the walls the youth of my generation would build around themselves for the sake of traditions that should have been long dead. I would have loved to ignore this conversation, but it is all over the conservative radio, it is misdirected or used callously on liberal stations and it’s become too easy to degrade someone you might disagree with on a benign social discussion, as a racist.

It is too easy to believe I don’t attribute credibility in the claim when you call me an Uncle Tom because I speak well and try very hard not to curse when it would be so much more convenient to do so.          

https://www.newgrounds.com/portal/view/730095

Honestly in the world of art this should never be a discussion and if life truly imitated art in this dynamic the world would be a better place. At least confrontation and schisms would not be as prevalent as it is today. To me it is like we begin the topic of hues and what is beautiful or seen in heaven, because we don’t have anything else to talk about.

I illustrated “Fallen,” as a response to how ridiculous of an idea of not being accepted by God or anyone would feel that way, because they are black. That someone would use the Bible to teach that and we would stop illustrating wings when talking about angels, in order to unify the spectrum of colors that make up our world into the kingdom of Zion.

Hard to imagine; in some aspects we still can’t agree on a marketable environment that unites black, white, Asian, and Indian dreamers.      

[thisdiscontentedwinter]

sjw anon

Hello everyone, I am the SJW anon, and I want to thank you very much for the words you’ve said.

Disco, thank you so much for the link, but too bad the page said that the service is only for Australians :(.

Thank you all. Oh I actually don’t partake in tumblr culture/debate. My tumblr only follows gay porn stuff + fanfic writers, I don’t follow any social movement-related tumblrs at all. I agree with you guys, SJW is not exactly a bad term, but now it feels like a term for overly sensitive people who only take part in aggressive internet debate about social justice without doing anything in real life. And I feel I’m becoming something like that. I really want to help too, but it’s hard to be a part of a social movement in my country. In here, being gay can get you a public whipping and being a trans woman can get your hair shaved publicly by the police. Women are expected to be virgins, or they are whores. Racism inside the country still exists, I am Eastern Asian-born, which is a minority and often discriminated by the majority, South East Asian-born.

Like Disco said, it’s hard not to be angry when the status quo isn’t changing. Either status quo of the things that are happening in my country, or in USA. I always look for the things in USA because I feel it has become the beacon of the world. If USA is changing to a better direction, the rest of the world will follow, with their own pace of course.

Fanfictions have been an escape for me, but I don’t know how much more it can help me/destroy my sense of reality. It helps me to fantasize about this world that accepts me the way I am, imagining myself finding true love who is loyal, having friends that supports my belief, etc. But it also distances me from the reality even more. Do fanfictions make my standard too high for men? I only want a nice guy who doesn’t cheat, is that too unrealistic? Is that only in fanfictions? But if I stop reading fanfictions, I feel I won’t have anything to cling on. I have guy friends who I asked about cheating, and they said “well men are men, what can we do?”, and that fucked me up even more about getting a nice boyfriend.

I guess it would be easier if I took a step back from the internet & interacted ith my real life friends more. But even my real life friends are either homophobic, cheat with their partners, or think I’m crazy for having these life values. I have to wear a mask when I’m with my friends. I really wish I can enjoy life more like they do.

To the anon who submitted a response to me: How do I stop caring? I wish I know, seriously. Now I am easily triggered by anything. Pictures of celebrities will remind me of my assumptions, movies that have ‘problematic’ scenes, etc. One thing I know, if I stop caring about those issues, won’t I become someone who grows insensitive to them? At first I do care about these issues because I really cared. But now, after seeing how I was not appreciated, I also wanted appreciation & recoginition (not saying that I care less now). I feel really useless and sometimes I feel I’m doing the wrong thing by prioritizing things wrong. I feel I’m not allowed to fuck up a bit, especially in the sexism/racism/homophobia part. And I feel people can’t fuck up in those area as well, or they’re assholes. I can’t be a racist (LOL ___ people are stupid as hell, their race should vanish!!) and advocate for anti-racism the next day. What kind of hypocrite would I be? I feel you can fuck up in other areas, but if you fuck up in sexism/racism/homophobia, then it just means you are showing your true colors.

“Their lives are theirs and not yours. How is comparing their success/lives to yours helping you?” I know this would sound unrealistic, but me wishing for consequences to happen to them is just my way of thinking, that good behavior will be rewarded, while bad will be punished. What would it teach to young men when they see grown men who cheated on their wives are still successful? What would it teach Americans when they see celebrities like Steve Harvey making fun of Asian men or Ellen making fun of Chinese names and they still have their own show? Isn’t it normal to wish for punishment?

I can’t exactly go to a therapist face to face. In my country, even the most professional psychologist & therapist has stated that homosexuality is a sin and wrong.

Sometimes I wish I was religious. At least if I believed in God, I could rest assured that someone would know & appreciate my inner struggle.

I feel I’m getting more disconnected to reality, yet I can still feel the weight of the ugliness of it.

Again, thank you so much for Disco and her followers, for allowing me to get things off of my chest, and for your time & advices. I’m sorry it took me so long to formulate my response (and yet I still feel I was incoherent in many parts).

I’m sorry! I had a quick look at that site and I didn’t see that it was only for Australians. Is there anything similar in your country? 

It really does sound like you’re struggling, and I hope that you’ll keep reaching out to people online, if that’s the safest place for you to do it. 

I hope that you can find a way to be a little easier on yourself--although of course that’s easier said than done. But also, I just wanted to address this too: 

I feel you can fuck up in other areas, but if you fuck up in sexism/racism/homophobia, then it just means you are showing your true colors.

I absolutely agree with having no tolerance for bigots, but sometimes people do say the wrong things, or they’re still learning, or they just haven’t been exposed to enough of the world to have an open mind. 

me wishing for consequences to happen to them is just my way of thinking, that good behavior will be rewarded, while bad will be punished. 

And this is something that I think most of us ask ourselves at some point, when we realise that the world is a very unfair place. Which brings me back to what we talked about in one of your previous submissions: find a way that you can make the world a little better, a little fairer. Nobody can change everything on their own, but if everybody did just a few little things, then that would make a difference. And--importantly--it might stop you from feeling like you have no agency. 

Pick some small steps that you can take, that are still meaningful for you, whether it’s volunteering at a local charity when you can, or fundraising for people in need, or buying  couple of tins of pet food for an animal shelter. 

You don’t have to do the big things all on your own. 

[phoenixagent003]

In Defense of Fanfiction

So, fairly recently (at time of writing), a fellow writer decided to disparage authors who cut their teeth writing fanfiction which, in their words “actively teaches you to write worse.”

Now, as someone who did cut their teeth writing fanfiction, my gut instinct to seeing this tweet was to angrily quote tweet it with the reply “Oh fuck off.” But that much as a I wanted to do that, I didn’t for several reasons. For one, I just generally try to be restrained and selective for who I get that angry and confrontational with online, reserving it mostly for politicians, celebrities, and DC’s Titans. Entities at once morally bankrupt, and largely immune to any kind of damage that I personally can inflict due to an absence of actual humanity.

And that all being said, this person was… well a person. A person with a narrow-minded and incorrect opinion, but still a person. And a fellow writer. So then I thought about refuting their bad-take, but that felt too much like swooping in to mansplain writing to someone who by all accounts seems to have been doing it at least as long as I have, and who’s been considerably more professionally successful at it.

Plus, like I said, I got my start in fanfiction. My origins are quite literally being targeted and attacked here. And feeling targeted can make people say and do some really stupid stuff if they don’t stop and think beforehand.

Basically, I didn’t want to start a Twitter beef over this because quite frankly the internet would be a happier place if we all just did that less, but I still saw a lot of bad arguments and missed points, so I couldn’t just say nothing. And so here we are, at a compromise between Twitter arguing and saying nothing—blogging about it.

The writer in question turned her single tweet into an entire thread that brought up a lot of very different, very unrelated issues, some of which I want to touch on as well, but before I do any of that, I want to answer the central argument, taking it as much as I can on face value and inferring as little else as possible: that fanfiction “actively teaches you to write worse.”

Does it?

Twitter is a terrible medium for communication. It rewards broad, inflammatory statements and its character limit leaves little room for nuance. Some people attempt brute-force circumventions of that limit, but most don’t, and the site isn’t suited to it. So it is unsurprisingly difficult to parse out exactly what they meant, but I can take a stab at it by covering as many bases as I could think of.

Does the medium of fanfiction inherently teach poor writing fundamentals, like prose, plot structure, or character development?

No. Writing, like most skills, is honed by practice. Every time you think about the best word to put on a page or the best way to structure a sentence or story, you are getting better at writing. You start a sentence, and think to yourself, “Hang on, there’s gotta be a better way to word that.” And that moment, where you reflect on your craft and look for ways and spots to improve it—that is you learning. Developing. Maybe you think of a way to word that sentence better, maybe you don’t. But the act of thinking, of searching, of even just acknowledging that it could be better is still work towards improvement. Doesn’t matter if it’s dialogue written for Harry Potter or for your original character, do not steal.

90% of fanfiction is crap. But 90% of everything is crap. Fanfiction is perhaps more famous for being mostly crap, but it’s really not hard to understand why. First off, the only barrier to entry for writing is basic literacy. If you can read this sentence, you can try your hand at writing. The difference between fanfiction and say, traditionally published works, is that fanfiction kind of keeps that low barrier to entry, whereas to get traditionally published you typically have to impress at least two other people—your agent, and then the editor you agent sends your shit to. And even then, that’s not a insurmountable barrier to entry. A metric butt-ton of people do it all the time.

In short, with fanfiction, the “slush pile” is open and visible, whereas with most other stuff, the only people who have to read that garbage are agents and editors, God have mercy on their souls. But rest assured, there is just as much shitty original fiction as there is shitty fanfiction.

In addition to the low barrier to entry, fanfiction is where a lot of people first dip their toe into this gig. And unless you are an unparalleled prodigy, when you’re new at something, you are bad at something. Which is fine. Doing something poorly is the first step to doing something competently. Practice is practice.

Now, you can practice something incorrectly and do yourself wrong—anybody who knows about proper weight lifting form can tell you that. But for the most part, a writer working on fanfiction is no more likely to do this than someone writing anything else.

The two exceptions I can think of are character and worldbuilding. Somewhat unique to fanfiction (we’ll talk about that in a minute) versus original fiction is that in fanfic, the characters and world are already established. Depending on the kind of fic you write, you may very well not get practice or experience making characters or worlds, since you’re using someone else’s work to basically cover that for you. So, sometimes, in this one specific area, fanfiction does feature something of a crutch that could theoretically lead to deficiencies in a writer’s fundamentals.

That said, that is very much dependent on the type of fanfic. Some works feature entirely original casts, telling a new story with new characters in an established setting. And even in fics which predominantly focus on the established cast, fanfic writers are downright notorious for adding new, original characters into the mix. Most of them are… awful. But we already covered why that is. Remember, bad writing is not the same thing as bad practice.

Ditto worldbuilding, where we’ve got plenty of fanfics that outright replace the world of the established story. The Alternate Universe concept is a very popular one in fanfic.

I will say in a closing than with worldbuilding and character, fanfiction does typically replace only one of these while keeping the other. Mainly because if you changed both, you’re liable to have left the realm of fanfiction altogether.

Does fanfiction, by its nature, leave you unprepared for making the transition to the professional writing world?

Let’s pretend for a moment that we didn’t just shoot down the idea that writing fanfiction means you never honed your ability to create your own original world and characters. That’s nonsense, but let’s say for purely hypothetical arguments sake, that if you start out writing fanfiction, your character-creating muscles will atrophy and you’ll only be able to work with pre-existing concepts, worlds, and characters. Does fanfiction leave you unprepared for making it in the world of professional writing?

For your consideration, I present: the very concept of episodic television. TV shows regularly bring on writers who did not originate either the show or its characters. TV writers craft stories borrowing a world and characters that somebody else came up with. The only difference between them is fanfiction is they got paid and get to be stamped as canon. Same muscles getting used. Same kind of exercise.

The spec script, the method by which most people showcase their ability to write for TV, is literally just fanfiction.

Then we have adaptations and retelling of both licensed and public domain properties, where once again, we have scores of writers, taking characters and concepts that they did not come up with, and using them to tell their own stories, or even just put different spins on the originals. What if Hades and Persephone, but without the whole “against her will” thing? Hey Marvel, can I use your Norse god character to tell a story about how societies built on the back of colonialism are inherently flawed and shouldn’t be preserved at the expense of the people?

The skillset of playing with other people’s toys to make something compelling is an incredibly valuable one for a writer to have. If anything, I’d argue that fanfiction is even better suited to teaching this skillset than writing original fiction.

And as a quick aside, that practice of playing with other people’s characters and constantly asking “Is this in character for them?” is a very useful practice that actually translates very well to writing your own characters. When you invented a character, it can be tempting to declare anything you write “in-character” since, well, you wrote it, and they’re your creation. But that thinking can easily lead to disjointed characterization.

I routinely ask “is this in-character?” while writing for characters I created. It makes me a better writer, and I learned how to ask that question and how to identify the answer from writing fanfiction.

Does fanfiction distort your sense of good taste?

This is the closest I could possibly come to agreeing with the original argument. The last time I was actively involved in it, the fanfiction community had pretty low standards, actually? I say this, because when I was writing fics, I was actually heaped with praise and attention, almost all of which was near universally good.

But I was not good. I was bad. I was very bad. Because I was in junior high, and an idiot, and those fics were the first thing I ever wrote that was longer than seven pages. But I updated my fics daily over the summer, in a very popular fandom that predominantly targeted people my age. So I got lots of fans and praise, and I started to think I was a good writer. Even worse than that, other people thought I was a good writer, and told even more people that I was.

Which is an affront to good taste.

That having been said, even though I do hold fandom and its nature partially to blame for the single most humbling aspect of my entire life, I also just hold adolescence in general to blame? Maybe? I like to think that much as I grew beyond my poor grasp of my own woeful incompetence, so too did my audience grow up and get a better understanding of what actually good writing is.

But then again, EL James and Reki Kawahara have made more money than I’ve ever seen in my life. So maybe neither fanfic nor adolescence is to blame. Maybe sometimes trash just sells.

As an aside, I hope this doesn’t come off as me trying to be mean or make fun of all those people who liked my old stuff. I know I’m embarrassed by it, and the only reason I haven’t deleted it all is because I need an ego check every now and again (and they’re also how I met my wife). But whether you also did a 180 on my old stuff as you got older or you still unironically think it’s good… thank you for the support. You are my humble beginnings and I would not be the person I am today without all of you.

…and that’s enough getting sentimental and making this about me, let’s go back to debunking opinions that are objectively wrong because I disagree with them.

The Other Stuff

I feel I’ve thoroughly said my peace on the original argument put out by my colleague. Namely, that they are wrong. But I’d also like to very quickly address the everything else they spewed out. My takes on this are considerably less long winded and probably could have been sanded down to a Twitter reply, but I still figure their inbox is getting enough shit already, and I want to make this more about the arguments than the person.

I’m not going to cover everything in detail, especially since I am super not qualified to speak on some of them—there is only so much I as a cishet dude feel comfortable giving my opinion on—but I will cover the bits that stood out and ground my gears.

EL James and Cassandra Clare are “fucking terrible”

No disputing the EL James part. Her character work is atrocious, her understanding of actual kink and BDSM dynamics and lifestyles is woeful, her plot bears clear evidence of serialized work that was not properly cleaned up prior to publication.

I haven’t read Cassandra Clare’s work. I have heard both good and bad things about it, but let’s say for argument’s sake she’s also not great.

This comment shows a distinct lack of knowledge of just how many authors, many critically acclaimed, write fanfiction on the side or got their start in it. Neil Gaiman writes fanfiction—and usually manages to get paid for it. I could go on with a long and yet still non-exhaustive list of authors who have done or still do it. Bottom line, there are some very high profile, not good writers whose start in fanfiction has been effectively weaponized against them to further underline their badness—“Of course EL James is bad. What did you expect from someone who started in fanfiction—while simultaneously many good writers have their connections to it downplayed by either choice or their own profile.

“Low effort formulaic lowest-common-denominator writing is bad actually”?

I almost brought this into main discussion, but I said I would infer as little as possible and on its own, this tweet didn’t directly say it was talking about fanfiction. I would argue it heavily implied it, and I very much doubt the author of the tweet would disagree with me, but I made the no inferring rule and I stuck to it.

I’m actually still going to take this argument on its own for a moment. I’ve already covered how and why fanfiction is generally seen as bad—low barrier to entry and the bad stuff is as easy to find as the good stuff—so I want to talk about something else. “Low effort writing is bad. No real arguments. I could jokingly say Neil Gaiman could drunkenly scribble something on a napkin that would outclass my best efforts, but I actually don’t have that low an opinion of myself.

Lowest-common-denominator writing is probably bad. In general, I think trying to appeal to the lowest common denominator is a good way to make uninspired trash, but on the other hand…fuck it, I’m liable to be included in that lowest common denominator most of the time. That’s the whole goddamn point of the LCD. It casts a broad net. And there’s a place for that. I don’t think it should be a big place, but still a place.

“Formulaic writing is bad” though? That I also just straight up disagree with. Formulas are a tool. And like every tool, they can be used really well, or really poorly. Used well, a formula can provide a solid structure around which to build interesting stories or ground the audience in otherwise unfamiliar settings. Don’t call a hammer a bad tool just because you’re hitting the nail wrong.

Several arguments discussing fanfictions relationship to queer and female audiences/writers/identities:

Nope, not touching that.

Oh fuck off.

Fanfiction isn’t collaborative or about community because “it's all corporate IP” and “Ultimately, someone else legally owns it, and you are choosing to give a corporate entity your creative energy.”

And this is actually something that’s been bugging me a while, specifically regarding the relationship people have with corporately owned IP and how it being owned by a corporation doesn’t automatically invalidate it as a source of emotional investment or cultural symbolism. But quite honestly, that really deserves its own post, so I’m just going to put a pin in this that and say we’re done here.

Glad I got all that off my chest.

So that was a thing. If you’ve got your own experiences with fanfic, good or bad, I’d love to hear them in the comments or over on Twitter.

If your curious about my history in fanfiction, like I said, it is all still technically out there, and very bad, but I’m not so much of a masochist that I’d link it here. I wouldn’t read it if I were you.

I write newer, much better stuff now. Some of it is here on this website, and some of it is in a novel coming out Fall 2021! Check that out instead! I promise it’s a much better use of your time.

[esseastri]

Megan Reads Oathbringer (part 9)

Happy New Year, y’all.

“Heavy Fuel” by Dire Straits is a punk!Dalinar song, sorry, I don’t make the rules.

Part 9 encompasses pages 666-753 (previous parts)

Pray for the mountain internet, please, that it lets me do this liveblog without dropping tumblr every five minutes.

okay, but Elhokar is drawing a map and I’m suddenly vaguely desperate for Elhokar/Eshonai map buddies.

I s2g every time someone calls him “the bridgeman” I just hiss protectively. HE HAS A NAME

oh snap his baby’s name is Gavinor. that’s... listen bud, your dad doesn’t deserve to have anyone named after him, sorry.

“Nice work, Elhokar.” *Gloryspren* THIS CHILD NEEDS MORE ENCOURAGEMENT, PLS, HELP HIM. BE KIND TO HIM. HUG HIM.

“Storming lighteyes, Veil thought as she watched [the food distribution].” YEAH HON, THAT GOES FOR YOU TOO, NORMALLY.

Okay, no, not quite--Shallan would probably not go so far as to send her servants to get food that could be given to the poor instead of rich people, but like... the principle stands. Shallan does not recognize her own privilege half the time, and I guess?? that “Veil” noticing it... might? be a step in the right direction? But... probably not until she fuses her multiple identities back into one person.

And that doesn’t seem like it’s happening any time soon.

HOID

WHY ARE YOU WEARING SADEAS COLORS? 

aw yis. storytime.

Aight, can Hoid see through Lightweaving, or can he just recognize Shallan by like... her stance and the way she moves or? HOW COOL IS HE, IS WHAT I’M ASKING HERE.

“You look like you could use the opportunity to buy me something to eat.” HOID, PLS.

“I’m not stupid enough to get mixed up in religion again.” Again. Hoid, wth does that mean.

but dear god, Hoid as a Herald would be hilarious.

THE LAST SEVEN TIMES HE’S TRIED IT. WTH, HOID, OH MY GOD.

“The sum total of stupid people is somewhere around the population of the planet. Plus one.” “Plus one?” “Sadeas counts twice.” GOD BLESS, WIT.

wait, so he wasn’t lying about the promise? About “always being there when needed” but not always knowing where or why? hm. Interesting concept. That I kind of love and wish I’d thought of first.

“Who came with you?” “Kaladin, Adolin, Elhokar, some of our servants.” I thiiiink the other bridgemen would take offense at that, but sure. Whatever.

I’m...intensely amused that chapter 69 is titled “Free Meal, No Strings.” Because I’m eleven and crude as fuck.

Idk, Kaladin, they have a point: the world is ending, so you might as well party. You can be miserable and afraid, or you can be partying and afraid. I’d go with the second.

OH OOOHHHHH OH ADOLIN CALLED HIM “KAL” AND I DIED A LITTLE BIT INSIDE

MY BOY’S GOT FRIENDS AGAIN AND HIS FRIENDS ARE ADOLIN AND I’M CRY

(but dear god, the Kadolin is real)

Also, Adolin being stupidly happy about getting a new wardrobe is giving me life, I LOVE THIS RIDICULOUS FASHION BOY

HEHEHEH Adolin is going to bring Skar and Drehy pastries from the lighteyes party, that’S SO CUTE I LOVE THIS

“What?” “What what?” “You’re going drinking with bridgemen?” “Sure. Skar, Drehy, and I go way back.” “We spent some time keeping His Highness from falling into chasms.” I’M LIVING MY CROPS ARE FLOURISHING MY SKIN IS CLEAR THIS IS ALL I EVER WANTED THIS IS THE BEST THING THAT’S EVER HAPPENED TO ME I LOVE THIS I LOVE EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS.

“He felt good lots of days. Trouble was, on the bad days, that was hard to remember. At those times, for some reason, he felt like he had always been in darkness, and always would be. Why was it so hard to remember? Did he have to keep slipping back down? Why couldn’t he stay up here in the sunlight, where everyone else lived?”

The Megan-and-Kaladin-Think-the-Same-Exact-Way-and-It’s-Both-Comforting-and-Terrifying Trend continues. 

Sometimes people ask me why he’s my favorite and I just. Have literally never related more strongly to another person ever, real life or fictional. It’s wild.

ADOLIN COMING TO CHECK ON KALADIN WHEN HE FALLS BEHIND WORRYING.

THERE IS TOO MUCH. STORMING. KADOLIN. IN THIS BOOK.

I love that the phrase “and you’re lighteyed today” is a normal thing now. That it changes and he can just. change it. and they’ve all accepted it. I love it.

PUNCHY GUYS.

IT’S THE ACADEMIC TERM

SWORDY FELLOWS OR SPEARISH CHAPS. AXALACIOUS BLOKE.

bless these two nerds

“Adolin Kholin was simply a good person. Powder-blue clothing and all. You couldn’t hate a man like him; storms, you kind of had to like him.”

YOU REALLY REALLY DO. He’s infectious, this sunlight boy. And I adore him.

oh no

“Should have just gone to the party” YES YES YOU SHOULD HAVE. I’M WORRY.

also, why did the illusion wear off????? Shallan, what you do?

“The stew didn’t smell anywhere near as good as Rock’s.” HEHEH Nothing does, I’m sure.

I loooooove that Kaladin gets to tell the truth about Amaram now. Drag him, my boy.

the over-friendly wall guards are makin me nervous

I’m sure there are some good men here, and a lot of good soldiers, but... who are they and where did they come from and why are they all lighteyes and.... I have sooo many questions.

......I don’t remember if the squires’ eyes turn light when they’ve been flying with Kaladin.

I don’t think they do, but I don’t remember, and now I’m thinking...maybe the highmarshal is. some kind of Radiant whose squires are all...lighteyes?

hm

AAHH!!!!??? AAAHH!!???? A LADY SHARDBEARER!!!!!?? A LADY!!!!

Okay. That was a pretty dang good speech.

But who is shhheeee

Is she a radiant or is that an Honorblade???

Mmmmmm, Kaladin also thinks she’s a Radiant, but WHICH KIND? If she’s got a bunch of squires, it could be Windrunner, but... dangit, I just... really want to meet a Stoneward.

“In every way, she was the perfect Alethi wife--and her unhappiness crushed his soul.” IT SHOULD. SHE DESERVES BETTER.

I’m reaaaally glad that Evi recognized the Thrill as a bad thing. A monster crouching in her husband’s body.

“...the Thrill was your reward.” Reward? Dalinar, listen to your wife. Please. That is not a reward.

Dalinar, look at you go. You did try this before, the talking thing. You are talking to this angry kiddo, and you’re bad at it, but you’re trying. This isn’t very punk!Dalinar of you. I like it. I can see the bits of presentday!Dalinar poking through the Thrill-encrusted shell of punk!Dalinar. I like it.

This is such interesting character movement, gaahh.

Evi still deserves better though. “Because of a good woman’s tears” ugh the fridge doors are slowly swinging shut, aren’t they?

whhhhhhhhaaaaat

I mean, I’m not surprised, because it’s Sadeas and he’s Sadeas and of course he’s a fucking traitor, but

whhhhhhhhaaaaaaaaat

...........gross.

Shallan needs to stop getting killed, please. This is really gross.

NO, DON’T TRY TO TALK WITH A CROSSBOW BOLT IN YOUR FACE PLEASE THIS IS REALLY UNNECESSARY

I DID NOT ASK FOR THIS LEVEL OF HORROR NOVEL PLEASE TAKE IT BACK, BRANDON.

Kaladin “Good at Making Friends” Stormblessed being all sheepish at making friends easily when it took so much effort to make friends with Bridge Four, like... listen, buddy. YOU are excellent at making friends and these guys were all ready to be friends with you. The Bridge was not ready and you had to wear them down with your charm, and you did, and doesn’t that make it all the more precious that you are friends with them?

Also, I miss them. Are my boys okay, Brandon? How are they doing?

omg, Adolin, pls. Yellow?

The Wall Guards making fun of Adolin’s new wardrobe is DELIGHTFUL.

Kaladin: HELLO, FELLOW LIGHTEYES, FOR I AM SURELY A LIGHTEYES, YES INDEEDY, LOOK AT MY VERY LIGHT EYES.

Hi, I love Kaladin, I am not sure you know this about me.

“Yes, his suit was a little bright--but if they would merely spend five minutes talking to him, they’d see he wasn’t so bad.”

Kaladin.

Babe.

You’ve come. So. Far.

I’m so proud of him, oh my god.  

mmmm this food shipment stuff is so weeeiiirrd. where is it coming from? why is it going?? uuugghhhhh

Part of me is like, “I love that they call Azure ‘sir’ and use male pronouns because there is no gender on the battlefield! Everyone gets treated equal!” and most of me is like “fuck this, she’s a fucking lady in command and she deserves to be known.”

also, wtf, she had them attack a monastery? Okay, I get it, you want to control the Soulcaster, but like.... you didn’t just go in there a kill a buncha monks for it, did you?

OKAY, SO MAYBE IT IS AN HONORBLADE THAT WAS DEF MY THOUGHT

but which one.

We have the Skybreaker one.......so whose is this?

Unless it’s not.

I’m

confused. and worried.

Tell me things, Brandon!

OH. But then she wouldn’t need the Soulcaster...if she had an Honorblade for Soulcasting... so she went and got the Soulcaster to...keep up appearances? Hm.

....is it awkward that Stormlight Archive has, so far, been the story of several people slowly becoming atheist (Jasnah, Dalinar) or agnostic (Kaladin) as their lives fall to pieces around them and they slowly rebuild?

Kaladin is a Good, guys.

The best.

omg, okay, but the Swiftspren is just.... LISTEN, BRANDON, YOU CAN’T GO MAKING SHALLAN A ROBIN HOOD. DON’T DO ME LIKE THIS.

I feel so bad for Elhokar.

Buddy just needs some hugs, okay.

Okay, I know logically that Roshar is Bad At Horses, but somehow it never occurred to me that they wouldn’t have archers trained on horseback. Mounted archer is just... such a very Alethi thing, especially non-Shattered Plains Alethi. I didn’t realize, but of course they wouldn’t have that. Horses are too rare.

aight, I didn’t really think Sadeas had betrayed them THIS early on, but STILL, I was so hoping...

Still, rockslide ambush is... a pretty solid strategy for dealing with a Shardbearer.

Sucks for his elites tho. They did not deserve that. That’s shitty.

“They must know the punishment for broken oaths.” Huh. Even back then...

“for none shall remain to weep.” #YIKES, my dude. y i k e s.

punk!Dalinar needs to take a chill pill.

And maybe get some sleep.

Listen, if the Thrill is telling you not to sleep, yOU SHOULD PROBABLY SLEEP.

also, any time you are actually LISTENING to SADEAS? You should probably rethink your life and your choices.

Just saying.

So... presentday!Dalinar had a conversation with Taravangian, about sacrificing the few to save the many. That’s...sort of what Taravangian’s entire plan for world domination salvation rests on. But now here...at the Rift. This is 100% Sadeas’ argument: sacrifice the ten thousand commoners living in the Rift to make an example of their highlords to stop any rebellion further down the timeline that might result in more soldiers’ deaths. Which gives ...a really fascinating insight into just how incredibly far Dalinar has come. past!Dalinar is literally employing the exact plan that Taravangian is trying to do on a worldwide scale, and so he knows it. He understands the consequences that Taravangian can’t know and can’t anticipate and refuses to consider. And present!Dalinar learned from this, and knows what end these means lead to and...refuses. To do it again.

It’s SUCH an interesting character progression. And it’s absolutely fascinating to see it laid out in this order--to see the good, honorable man we know and love first and to see this...monster that he was and see exactly how very much he’s grown... It doesn’t excuse this bad period, the good he’s doing now, but maybe it explains it a little bit. Dalinar is getting a redemption arc and we didn’t even realize that he needed one until he’s almost done with it.

And that’s some badass non-linear storytelling for you.

Also past!Dalinar can get fucked by a cactus, holy shit, what an unbelievable fuck.

nooooo wonder Kadash leaves and becomes an ardent.

hoooooly shit.

“We’ve gone too far.” YA FUCKING THINK??

Meanwhile, Sadeas: “Nonsense!”

Fuck Sadeas, uuugghhhh I’m so glad he’s dead. UUGGHHH

what

the

fuck

THAT JUST HAPPENED.

Fun facts, y’all, the refrigerator is now on fire.

hoooollly fucking shiiiiiiit

WELP

[tessatechaitea]

Dial H for Hero #7

It's for You, God.

Why is Robby Reed in a vagina?

If you don't get the premise for Dial H for Hero, I'm not going to explain it to you. Because I don't get it. The title says "Dial H for Hero" but it seems like people are constantly dialing the entire word. I think there was even a time when you could dial HERO backwards to become a villain. But Dial O for Villain is a stupid name for a comic book (please don't use that statement as evidence that I think "Dial H for Hero" is not a stupid title for a comic book. I never fucking said that). I feel like one of the dials I saw in some version of this comic book only had the letters H-E-R and O or else why would I have tried to come up with all the other weird things you could dial, like OREO for a quick snack or HORROR for Cthulhu or HOHOHO for either presents or a quickie or EEEEE! for comic book reviews that often forget to review the comic book? Although I think this current series just has a normal dial on a normal rotary phone that's quickly becoming mysterious technology to young people. The main reason I kept purchasing this comic book was for the fun origin stories in different art styles every time somebody used the phone. But it feels like that part of the comic isn't as prevalent now that the plot has really started rolling along. That's why this is my last issue. That and the need to afford health insurance! This issue does practically the opposite of what I liked. It highlights a number of different new heroes but doesn't give their secret origin at all! Instead it's like a modern game show where the audience gets to learn all about the contestant when what the audience really wants is to see the contestant play a fucking game for money. I don't care if Tony had low self-esteem and was dating a jerk before he became Sir Prize. Tell me how Sir Prize became Sir Prize, you stupid fucking Howie Mandel of a comic book! Later we learn the girl who becomes Phantasma was tired of dealing with her Lex Luthor Healthcare provider. But I don't care about that! I want to know how Phantasma became Phantasm! This fucking comic book betrayed me! I can't wait to spend my extra $3.99 on corporate health insurance that will try their hardest to not have to pay my medical bills so they can reward their CEOs with more big bonuses. Throughout the stories, a silent hero has been saving everybody without waiting for a word of thanks. In the end, it winds up being a dog. Boo! BOOOO! The problem with some writers is that they get all of their ideas from the Internet and this was absolutely the story thought up by somebody who has seen the "Dogs are too pure for us" bullshit all over the Internet. As if a starving dog wouldn't eat your face! Dogs aren't pure. They're just needy assholes!

This panel proves this comic book should be called "Dial H-E-R-O for Hero."

Dial H for Hero #7 Rating: C. I'm not anti-social justice story arcs in comic books. Hell, what else are superhero comic books supposed to be about?! Heroes fighting to keep corporate America and the patriarchy in power? Of course not! But what does irk me and it's why I'm no fan of writers like Humphries who seem to take most of their plots directly from Tumblr threads or Twitter memes. In this comic book alone, we have a gay guy in a slightly abusive relationship who eventually finds a group of weirdos who accept him for who he is, a woman angry at a health care provider not providing proper healthcare to protect its own bottom line, an angry youth who tries to use violence to get revenge and winds up being killed, and a fucking hero that's too good to be true because of course it's a fucking dog. It's like a comic book ticking all the boxes for maximum Tumblr reblogs! My issue isn't that somebody decided to write a comic book like this. My issue is that Sam Humphries only writes comic books like this. His Green Lantern with social anxiety was pure "Tumblr is going to love this character!" fawning bullshit. Most of my problem with the character (and this issue) comes down to execution. Just like when I pick up an Ann Nocenti book and know immediately that the characters are going to speak nonsense but still being open to a well written story if it happens (it never happens), I'm all for Sam Humphries impressing me with his "I'm writing for Tumblr" style. He was successful for six issues of this series (which it's too bad I wasn't doing reviews of at the time. So sorry, Sam!). I really enjoyed the style of this series. But this issue just reminded me why I was hesitant to buy a Sam Humphries comic book. On the other hand, the dog meme translated into this story wasn't that bad! And how can I be angry at the health care story when I began this thing ranting about health care! And, ultimately, I approve of stories in which one person tells another person to be themselves. What better paradoxical advice is there (other than don't fuck your grandmother when you time travel)? It's just that I'm just a hyperbolic bastard who can only respond to how long of an eye roll a comic garnered from me. And let me tell you, that dog reveal was a pretty fucking hefty Liz Lemon eye roll.

[bythealone-forthealone]

Fanfiction: A Big Fat World Of Inconsiderate People And Bad Clichés

I have an opinion and I want to say it. Final words on the subject. I started writing fanfiction in 2016, I don't remember how I got into it, I guess I just read a story from a blog and thought: 'This is actually pretty cool.' People seriously wrote and others responded to it. So I got an idea; I liked a character that gets killed in the book/movie and I couldn't deal with that, so what if I changed it? That was my little start and my goal: give him a new life and change his ending. So I wrote chapter one and posted. One person helped me to promote and then forgot about it when I kept posting the next chapters. I admit it: it wasn't "professional" writing. I was the biggest amateur out there who pretended to be great at it. But I liked it, so I kept going. I must mention that English is my second language so it was HARD and it still is... you have no idea how hard. But I believed in my story, so I kept writing. Until I saw things weren't going so good. My baby fic was lost in the sea of bigger, older fics and wasn't getting any review, good or bad. I wanted to know what people thought, naturally. So I started talking to people who shared my interest. I told them I was writing too, but I never asked them if they wanted to read it *GET THE HINT* We were following each other so there was no way they didn't see it. I did read their work (they never asked either) and I knew they were excellent, not only they mastered the language, their stories were entertaining AND people let them know so. I mean, literally, they got asks and comments of how A-mazing they were. That's when a second thought hit me: Why am I not getting any of that? Am I doing something wrong? Clearly I was. And everything went down the hill from that point on. Fuck. Fuck. FUCK. Fuuuuuuck. What the fuck? That is the question still unanswered: WHY THE FUCK NOT? I mean, it wasn't THAT BAD. My plot made sense and had several interesting ingredients to make it likable. Maybe I didn't use the right words and it sounded odd, but it's not like I put my text on Google Translator and let the thing do the job, no, I actually wrote and translated myself. It was easier for me instead of writing the whole thing in English. I guess everyone do it their own way. I got angry. Period. I got super angry because they were ignoring me, that was obvious. It wasn't a coincidence that they saw all my other posts but not especifically those chapters I shared. So after getting angry I also got jealous. They weren't inventing anything, they borrowed every single thing they wrote about, AS WE ALL DO. But people praised them, put them in pedestals for writing stuff that in the end wasn't so special. Yeah, they're still good writers and their stories are massive hits, so what? More people is joining the party with new stories, but God forbid they get readers, nobody will top THEIR story that nobody should ever think on "steal." So I deleted my story. Nobody would miss it, so, what was the point on keep updating? I was tired and suffering. Enough of pitting myself, I was being ridiculous. But I couldn't get the story out of my head. I really liked it. And it wasn't its fault that my terrible reaction made it stop. Sooo... I tried it again. I was getting better at my writing so I improved a few parts and changed others completely. After months, nothing happened. It didn't work for me the way it worked for others, I guess I lack the "spark" of great fanfiction writers. So i'm officially quitting but before I do so, I want to say what I learned from it. 1) "WRITE FOR YOURSELF" THAT'S BULLSHIT. Don't believe it. Don't feel bad for wanting recognition on your writing. If you write for yourself, then those texts should be in your diary with a lock or safe in your laptop and not on the internet. That is not an excuse for not having readers, you're doing art and you share it expecting to get something: words of encouragement, people who support you or promote you, even haters, ANYTHING! 2) IN ORDER TO KNOW IF PEOPLE LIKES YOUR WRITING, THEY HAVE TO TELL YOU. And 'telling' includes more than "Please post more," "I can't wait for more," "Nice," or any other type of word. 'Silent Readers' you can all go fuck yourselves. 'Cause if the situation was the other way around, you damn right would be feeling the same as me, alone and discouraged. If I wanted a silent reader, I would read it myself. So they can read a 12,000 word chapter but they can't say what they think in 1 sentence? Thank you very much, you made my all my effort worth it. Oh, and by the way, since I don't know somebody likes it, I think nobody likes it, therefore I'll stop posting; so if you did like it, it's not only my loss, it's also yours. STOP THINKING THAT GIVING A LIKE MAKES EVERYTHING OKAY. IT'S NOT OKAY. THOSE LIKES AREN'T COMPLIMENTING, THEY MEAN NOTHING TO THE STORY. LET'S EXCHANGE IDEAS. NOTHING IN MY STORY MAKES YOU CURIOUS? THERE'S NOTHING YOU WANT TO KNOW MORE ABOUT? EVERYTHING ABOUT IT IS 'PERFECT'? MY WRITING STYLE IS THE SAME AS 'X' AUTHOR? It take two minutes or less to tell that writer what you think, to give your words purpose. You will help that person more than you can imagine, it's a good action, and a good action is always rewarded. Please remember that. 2.2) ASKING READERS THEIR OPINIONS AND STILL GETTING NONE HURTS. IT'S NOT A DEMAND (AT LEAST I THINK IT SHOULDN'T BE) WE JUST WANT TO CONNECT WITH YOU, IS THAT A CRIME? WE CAN'T OBBLIGUE YOU, BUT YOU ONLY HAVE TO DO IT ONCE IN THE STORY (OR PER CHAPTER). 3) FANDOMS ARE THE WORST. I got little to none support from the people who allegedly liked the same as me. Don't expect users in the circle get your back. Everyone's out there for themselves. You can be lucky and they're actually good, or you can get yourself into a group of bitches competing for who's best (RE: NO ONE is the best). I relied on them and that was a mistake. Some people aren't willing to give a little of what they also want and get. That's what pisses me off the most: I wasn't expecting everyone to read me and like, just the ones in the fandom; but they weren't even kind enough to tell me they hated what I wrote. 4) FANFICTION SITES ARE THE SECOND WORST. They have all this material and so much inequality. They just give the options 'favorite,' 'follow,' 'kudos,' etc, and that isn't constructive. It doesn't make a story better than another having countless likes. Not everyone thinks the same, but you're telling people what to think according to those scores. And if we're all doing it for the sake of art, why having those options anyway? Those buttons are there for our ego, they're not indicators nor judges of good writing. People work hard for this. People read five, ten, twenty times looking for typos and deliver a flawless text. People try, they have a life and obligations, and they still try to be constant and share from a place of love, and you do nothing to help us, it's like everything's the same for you. 5) YOU WRITE, YOU GET FEEDBACK. THAT'S HOW IT WORKS. 6) I HAVE NOTHING AGAINST 'SMUT,' BUT WHEN IT'S USED TO GET READERS, THAT'S LOW. NO MATTER HOW GREAT AND GRAPHIC THE SCENE IS. 7) I KNOW MORE PEOPLE IS IN A SIMILAR SITUATION AS MINE, WONDERING WHY THEY DON'T GET ABSOLUTELY ANYTHING. TO THOSE I'D LIKE TO SAY THAT YOU CAN EITHER KEEP TRYING, HOPING TO GET LUCKY (APPARENTLY GETTING LUCKY IS THE KEY FOR SUCCESS IN THIS BUSINESS) OR STOP SHARING YOUR TALENT AND IDEAS IN PLACES WHERE PEOPLE DOESN'T APPRECIATE YOU PROPERLY. YOU DESERVE BETTER THAN THAT. WE ALL DO.

[leoxrobertson]

Charles Rambles IV

Worries at any stage of the career.

 I’m still trying to navigate Twitter. Being a published author of indie presses gets you 240 new followers, then it stabilises there for some reason, so I have between 530-540. I tend to lose followers if I tweet asking them to buy my book, and I should lose them if they don’t like me doing that, because it’s but one of the key reasons I have a Twitter account, duh. But in trying to network (just get in touch with authors you like, start liking and sharing their stuff: they notice you faster than you think) there’s a weird trend I’ve noticed in almost all writers but the king writer (Stephen King) and many literary agents: they do the young author sighing thing!

“Does anyone REALLY NEED another story about X?

“Can everyone please stop saying they were the first to Y?”

“’Something earnest and sincere you thought earlier today, which you thought was original and interesting, but this is a parody account, so I’m laughing at anyone who thinks this because it’s trite and overdone.’ – Parody account for Leo Robertson’s thoughts.”

You get my point: almost everything exists on Twitter. These parody accounts must make the writers of them especially cynical, because I’m sure they start with a good wealth of funny and astute observations, but given the internet’s hunger for content, in order to have the accounts maintained, their owners need to sneer at everything under the sun. Sad!

 Black Mirror is a big fear-producer. I haven’t watched any of the latest season yet because I know it’ll be so good I’ll think every story about contemporary tension has been told. I know Twitter thinks that, because it’s either praised by those encouraging, self-accepting writers like Stephen King (and others I’ll maybe shout out later, but the encouraging crowd don’t need a shout out, because the encouragement is returned their way by the bucketload) or torn asunder by those horrified, neurotic ones, who have ventured too far into the Lovecraftian existential sea and stare at the Nietzschean abyss. By the way, it doesn’t matter how many things and concepts I namedrop: by the laws of the universe, I seriously can’t be that great. Here’s what I mean: to rebel against these Twitter sneerers I tweeted something like “In 50 years, I must have read 0.000001% of the literature ever written, so, uh, I think I know what I’m talking about.”

 And anyway, if you’re just being yourself, any time anyone calls out something trite or overdone or cliché, you need not worry :)

 Rebellion, by the way, is a good place for creative energy, because originality or story or whatever—I haven’t fully fleshed out this analogy yet—exists in the place between the status quo and what you want to see in the world. I think I flesh this out later when I talk about a Bunsen burner, so watch out for it then. When I wrote Rude Vile Pigs (available in all good blah blah, basket of dreams) I was trying to rebel against the notion that I should love all my characters: who could love these people? I did end up loving some of them. Please don’t think that a result of my surprise at my own skills, rather than a consequence of my arrogance. Also, here's a rule about rebelling, by the way: somebody has to give a shit. Someone has to want you to do another thing, or something other than a straw man needs to demonstrate an opposing opinion for it to be interesting. If no one gives a shit, it's not rebellion: you're just being a dick to yourself, eg, if angry at the world, so you don’t want to provide them with beautiful, heartwarming, evocative, pretty stories about the power of human endeavour and connection, and instead want to write… some other bullshit, well, the world doesn’t really give a shit—because it doesn’t know what it’s missing, I agree, but, still. I’m not saying that’s what I or anyone I know did—it’s just an interesting principle!

 Anyways, sneering is no fun: I have no use for it. Why are they sneering? Why isn’t Stephen King? Duotrope boasts that it has about 6000 markets for fiction. So, no matter what level of writer you are, you cannot find the time to read all those. You cannot rid yourself of the nagging suspicion that in the one magazine you didn’t read is a story so monumentally good it would nullify your life’s efforts. Not even that, right? It could be on TV, a film, or even something in the works that you don’t even know about. It could have already been written: you can’t have read everything either. By promoting your own book, you may be stealing time from readers whose energy is best expended otherwise. In so many possible ways! How do you know what a reader likes? You don’t even know this person! Her mother is ill, she’s cycling to the hospital with, I don’t know, a stuffed penguin and a basket of ice chips or whatever ill mothers need—I can’t remember—and then the wheels come off her finds your book? Ugh. What a waste of her time! Okay here’s an example I can be bothered providing: a friend (when you see me write “a friend”, be very suspicious, because I don’t have many: I’m probably just talking about myself or something I overheard that I’m trying to give more credibility to), she was knocked off her bike by a van and hurt her leg. She can claim compensation but is reluctant to because she doesn’t want to take money from someone else who might really need it. First of all: that’s not the reason, is it? It’s probably just a method of self-punishing. I think that’s why New Year’s resolutions fail: because it’s about making better choices, not removing beloved treats. Anyways: unfortunately you don’t know who the next person is or what book they wrote; you only know what you wrote, and you should do your best to know the market, but you can only know so much. Here’s a good rule for life, then: if you’ve done your best, you can chill. But sneerers get scared and self-flagellate and deprive themselves and lash out, and that’s why they sneer. Why shouldn’t you sneer? Because if you’re being authentic, your last bastion in the crashing seas of STORY and CONTENT and INTERNET, there will miraculously be a way you go about things that is undiscovered elsewhere.

 Not to say it’s easy to be authentic: you have to constantly find yourself. As you grow, you’ll be overjoyed and horrified by who you become at the same time, but in that tension of losing yourself and rediscovering yourself, you will produce a story to inform you and those like you of what you need to know at that time, written with the ability you have at that time too. One way story exists is in the gap between what you are and what you think you are. It fills the interstices of what you say and what you wanted to say, between cultures, between schools of thought—you’ll quickly find your own examples if you accept this way of thinking.

 Frequently in fiction I’ve wanted to add further dimensions, third arguments, but I keep falling back upon binary warring forces. Likely this, isn’t useful when it comes to reading my fiction, it’s just something I’ve noticed. You can pick it up by reading Chekhov: everything he writes seems to be about the arbitrarily assigned traits and opinions and personality types we have, and that’s why his stories are timeless and essential reading for most people, because this tension will never die, but we can rid ourselves of the discomfort we feel around it by acknowledging it either in our own writing or reading or communication or something somehow. Don’t you ever think—in as non-arrogant a way it can be phrased, which may well be but probably isn’t the following way—about how painful the life of a non-reader must be? My God: every new challenge they face, they must feel like the first one facing it. Every embarrassment they feel must be their own. Every mistake they made must only have been made by them, and never made worse by anyone else before. I’ve seen the confusion on people’s faces when they don’t have the tools to express themselves. It happens to the best of us, of course—then after distance and reflection, the confusion may well reveal a story—but it’s one of the most painful situations in life and I’d do as much as possible to minimise it.

 The non reader’s reward for not reading is ignorance, an unearned confidence in a poorly gauged sense of originality and self-importance, a way of going about the world that makes it seem like whatever they are doing is far more important than it is. What a lovely life that must be!

 Here’s another thing I believe, then: loveliness doesn’t override loneliness. We readers need to face our minuscule, pixelated properties, our shallow influence, our eventual washing away by the seas of time. We map out our tiny, lonely islands of self from which we can cast off hundreds of letters in bottles and sometimes receive, like, two back, for which we have to learn to be thankful. Maybe reading and not reading is just another balance. Hopefully I tend towards the examined life, for which I can see now I’ve paid a high price. But the soulbucks I invested come with high dividends!

 One thing I wanted to say related to the above ramble: writing is about the discharge of energy. You ramble highly and cut the story out of what remains. Of course, believe it or not but producing this text took a lot of time, and I have other stuff to do, so my book reviews (to date: podcast view quality needed!) and blog posts tend to be less edited, because editing takes a fucktonne (British) of energy I’d rather use elsewhere, while you, kind reader, basically get the point of my meaning, but must discharge the additional energy of editing and cherrypicking where I have not used mine. Oh well.

 Anyways, on the discharge of energy: this is a lot like an experiment I did in chemistry class (You don’t often get through a Robertson ramble without a scientific analogy, although in the interest of avoiding pitfalls, I will never make one using Occam’s Razor, The Theory of Relativity, String Theory, Heisenberg’s Uncertainty Principle and especially not Schrodinger’s Cat. Leave those to dilettante hacks! I even heard in an interview with a comedian: ‘There’s a thing in science where if you measure it there’s an error.’ #LazyHeisenberg!) We put some chemical in the fire of a Bunsen burner and looked at it through a hand-held colour spectrometer, which is a weird steel telescope you can only see out of through a rectangular strip as wide as a fingernail. As it burned, lines of colour appeared in the strip of our vision. This, we were told, was the effect of energised electrons reaching higher energy levels, higher electron shells, and then discharging photons as they returned to their original electron shells. With more accurate measuring devices, this method could be used to identify the pure substance burning. This is how I think about writing: so much energy is discharged, and from it, a thin band of meaning is extracted, an authentic fingerprint of understanding. That’s all you’re entitled to—and yet only you are entitled to it.

 It’s hard to hold onto this revelation, and there are many coping strategies so that you don’t have to think about it: one is to be so arrogant and self-assured a writer that you think you’re “doing it better” than everyone else, rather than just doing it differently from everyone else. Now that I think about it, writing being highly and not wholly subjective, perhaps doing it better and doing it differently are valid and sometimes but not always exclusive merits to a piece of writing. Kurt Vonnegut said of Joseph Heller that he was “a first-rate humorist who… insists on dealing with only the most hackneyed themes. After a thousand World War II airplane novels had been published and pulped, he gave us yet another one, which was gradually acknowledged as a sanely crazy masterpiece.” If you’re lucky enough to have the innate (or perhaps nurtured) talent, and the inherent (or perhaps acquired) self-belief that makes your egocentricity authentic, have at it.

 If you’re better at acceptance than self-delusion (arbitrary warring forces), you’ll have to thrust yourself towards uncomfortable truths again and again—I think this is me. There’s this wonderful passage in, of all things, Kim Stanley Robinson’s “Red Mars” in which he aligns personality types with the four temperaments theory of personality, and I don’t have the book to hand, but I can screenshot it later, but there will be advantages and disadvantages to whatever personality type you have, which will help you cope with the world and its ways. Self-delusion versus acceptance is one way, introspection versus curiosity about others is another way, losing yourself in higher order problems (considering your drop-in-the-ocean nature, dreaming of what Shanghai will look like in 100 years) versus staying highly present (meditation, mindfulness) is another way. There are so many different solutions and your intuition is telling you yours. This is, I suppose, why there’s always a new book about happiness: there’s always news about happiness, through personal insights, latest developments in science, somewhat useful statistics about how to live your life (although you might always be in the minority and not know it) and yet what you know better than anyone else in the world is what you need to do!

 Not to say you don’t listen to everyone but that, where possible, you use data and insight and voices to erect mountains and carve out pitfalls to guide your path of personality on its way. What way is that? Is it a terrifying one, but with fulfilling work? Or a dead-end job but amazing pals? Or both or neither or what? WHAT ARE WE?! It’s okay: I know what I am, most of the time, and that’ll do, I guess. It’ll have to because it’s all I’ve got (acceptance.) New Sherlock is good though (escape!)

 Okay, honestly, how can you enjoy life knowing all this is true?

1. There’s what I’ll call The Cure for Glasgow: ‘Saying someone shouldn’t be sad when other people have it worse is like saying they can’t be happy because other people have it better.’

2. There’s acknowledging that if you are truly unique, the success of others has nothing to do with you.

3. Go at your own pace but be diligent in anything you do.

4. Accept that other people all know something you don’t, but it’s also fair to say that a lot of the time, you’d have to put in so much work to find out what it is that it isn’t worth it. But you can still be assured they know something even if you never find out what it is—or want to talk to the person again. And when you recognise that other people are quite poor at knowing what it is about them others might find interesting, you can forgive yourself when you don’t really know what you’re supposed to write about. And the more you forgive yourself for anything, the faster you can get back to doing what you’re supposed to do, which is to everyone’s benefit.

5. Rejoice that it doesn’t take long to overtake 50, 60, 70% of the “competition”, whatever that means, because most people drop out more easily than you’d think. Also, patience means the reward comes later than you expected, so find the reward in the work itself; but also remember that rewards will come eventually, so don’t toil away for nothing.

6. It is a possibility you’ll toil away at any craft and never succeed ever, because of the influence of chance, subjectivity or bias. No one can take that reality away from you. However: it is so unlikely that skill and experience will forever go unnoticed, so unlikely that you should picture something good coming from your hard work, but it isn’t good to be too specific about what that is. I could get hit by a bus tomorrow, but I don’t want to, I avoid buses, and statistically I will live for a long time, and so that’s the option it makes sense to plan for even if it doesn’t come to fruition. Know what I mean? Statistics offer a lot when it comes to dampening the horrible truths of absurdism.

LAST PART TOMORROW!